Walk With You
by randomcat23
Summary: Alternate S6/7. Carol left Alexandria, but when Daryl finds her, she realizes that healing may be better when someone helps you through it. Daryl will do anything he can for her, even when trouble back in Alexandria threatens to push them into war. Slow burn Caryl. Canon through 6x14.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** Nope, I do not own anything from The Walking Dead.

* * *

Nothing about the bed, the dog-eared book on the nightstand, or the outfit laid out on the armchair hinted at a permanent departure. She left the corner of the quilt turned down in a way that spoke of intended return, the sheets and blankets pushed just far enough for her to slide out. On the off chance Tobin awoke before morning, he'd figure that she had just stepped away to the bathroom, or snuck downstairs for a glass of water. Probably with a small grin, the man would then roll over and let his eyelids close, oblivious to the truth of the situation.

He had never needed to be a light sleeper though, so Carol doubted he'd ever open his eyes prior to the sunrise.

Carol turned from Tobin's soft snoring and shrugged on her coat and bag, never once worrying about making too much noise. She simply eased out of the bedroom. She toed the staircase like a ballet dancer, old knowledge telling her to stay to the outside where they'd be less likely to groan. Eyes focused like a laser down the hallway, Carol ignored the dream kitchen, with its oak cabinets and granite countertops, the cozy living room, the couch perfectly centered and draped with an afghan, and slipped out the back door.

It clicked closed. Carol exhaled.

Above, the sharp crescent moon hung just above the tree line. She rushed across the manicured lawns, crisp autumn air biting her cheeks, and jumped from shadow to shadow.

 _"They'll be fine. They have Rick,"_ she assured herself. _"And Rick has Michonne."_ Three houses down from Tobin's she ducked behind a shed. Peeking around the corner, she eyed no movement, heard nothing but a forgotten wind chime.

 _"Carl's almost a man, smart enough to learn from his and his father's mistakes."_ Her reasoning continued while she caught her breath, _"And he's a good brother."_ One...four more houses to go until she'd reach her escape point. Then it was up and over and gone. Carol sighed before setting off again.

 _"Glenn and Maggie will be great parents."_ She said it in her head like a fact, therefore, it settled in her gut like one. A sure thing that helped propel her forward. Her heavy coat slid silently along the siding of the house. With her heart thudding in time with her short, quick steps, Carol continued to weave through the night. When she arrived at the gap between the last two houses, she reached to grip her backpack and sprinted over the driveway. Each step echoed like thunder to her, each one could gave away her intentions. Only once she was pressed against a tree did she release her hold on the bag and her lungs.

No worried Alexandrian opened their door, searching for trouble. No alert came from the guard tower on the opposite side of the community. Only the wind and tree leaves whispered from above. Flush against the bark, Carol blinked furiously, trying to refocus her gaze. One swipe over her traitorous eyes cut off her budding regret, packing it away deep inside.

There behind her, the wall rose up, a barrier of steel safety. Against the wall, buried in the long grass, she had hid metal rebar during her last round of cookie deliveries. The cut pieces would fit the holes in a steel beam, creating an obscured ladder. Now, all that stood between her and her escape was just a few torturous steps vertical and the drop on the other side. Her shaking hand adjusted the straps on her bag for the fifteenth time that night. She swallowed. With one last look down the paved cul-de-sac, its residents tucked away, Carol spun around the tree and snuck to the wall.

Halfway into the climb, her palms already raw from clenching the bars, her first tears rolled down her cheeks.

 _"They'll be fine."_

 _"They'll be fine."_

As she swung her right leg over the wall edge, she was bombarded with the image of Daryl, just as she left him a few hours ago, rank with sweat, blood, and alcohol. Him, squaring those wet, blue eyes on the mountain of dirt. Him, shovel full after shovel full, bottle after bottle, filling another grave. A sob shook its way through her entire body, threatening to cast her off balance. _"He'll be fine,"_ she lied, white knuckles curled around the lip of the wall as she dangled her legs over the other side.

 _"He'll be fine."_

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I guess this is my version of a Season Six fix-it story. It more or less disregards stuff that happens after 6x14. I'm going to play around with the timeline of the last few episodes.

It's been a heck of a long time since I've written a multi-chapter, plotted story. Like years. So, starting this freaks me out, but here we go! And I know this isn't much, but if I don't post this now, I'll back out and it won't be done.

Anyway, any feedback is greatly appreciated. I hope to have the first full chapter up soon! -Randomcat23


	2. The First 48 Hours

**Disclaimer:** Nope, I do not own The Walking Dead.

* * *

Carol abandoned Alexandria like a mother who leaves child at an orphanage, silently and with the promise that they'd be better off without her. The soft thud of her boots on the ground resonated through her like the dying note of a symphony, haunting and final. Shaking, she wiped away the lingering dampness from her cheeks and marched into the night.

An owl hooted in the distance. Pressing her lips together, Carol stepped lightly through the undergrowth, pausing only to listen for the stunted gait of walkers. Never once did she look back over her shoulder.

Thick vines kept her knees high and her strides short. There were logs to step over, burrows to avoid. Anything that slowed her down, like a twisted ankle or a bruised shin, would lead to death, or possibly worse, capture. In the low light of the moon, she squinted at shadows as she forged a winding path. A raging voice in her head begged her to pick up the pace, but it was checked by another voice, _"Better to hold off on the flashlight. Sasha could still see it."_

There was a rural school a few miles out that she planned for her first checkpoint. She had spotted it on the maps Eric and Aaron had marked up from their recruitment runs. Grabbing them proved to be difficult, until Rick borrowed the bunch while planning his assaults on Negan. Every time she watched Judith over the last few weeks, Carol eyed the roadways and circles of abandoned towns until the image burned into the back of her mind. A thirty-mile radius around Alexandria was now open to her disposal. Eric's smooth writing marked this particular school as _looted_ and _empty_ in faded ink.

 _"Lift one foot, bend the knee, dodge that rock, suck in stomach_ ," she recited silently. Thinking the words kept other thoughts at bay and, like clockwork, her body responded to the simple directions.

After judging it to be about two miles, Carol turned to the road. The trees lining the pavement thrived now that no one actively cut them from power lines. Their scraggly branches reached high above the crooked lines, nearly blocking out the moon. After recalling her mental map once more, she strode east through a rolling fog. In its milky mists, unbidden ghostly memories of the last time she had walked this road appeared, when they had first approached Alexandria, beaten and broken.

 _"Focus,"_ Carol pinched herself. " _Head up."_ With a shoulder roll, she stomped through the mist and the ghosts faded. _"You have 48 hours to make this work."_

She wasn't a fool; somebody from Alexandria would come after her. Tobin would go to Rick, who would surely put together a search party, headed most likely by Daryl... She pinched herself again as she pondered an intersection. _"Doesn't matter who it is, the game is the same."_ If those old cop and crime television shows were anything to go by, the first 48 hours were crucial; if she could hide from them for that long, then her chances of making this work greatly increased.

It was said that trails go cold after that point.

People give up.

Hope dies.

At the very least, the deadline gave her something to center her attention on.

She knew, if nothing else, how to hide. Days ago, the trail she had left saved her and Maggie; now Carol worked to reduce her imprint on the land by sticking to the roadway.

 _"Heel to toe, swing your arms."_

A brisk breeze eventually ushered her across cracked blacktop of the school, it's front lawn haunted with the moans of the dead. One peek over a parked vehicle revealed a handful of walkers milling around between an old fence constructed out of barrels, trailers, and crates. With the first light of day tingeing the horizon, Carol crouched and waddled her way behind several parked cars until she reached the back of the building.

Behind the school, there was a small chain link fence housing electrical components for the football field lights.

 _"Rest here, eat something."_ She noted the position of the stars and the clear sky. Hoped, not for the first time, that the fall rains would hold off until she had placed enough distance between her and Alexandria. Rain brought mud, mud kept footprints.

Her wishes were shaken by a walker stumbling around the corner, all broken arms and shredded clothes, putrid maw gaping for flesh. In a single stroke, her blade swept in and out of the walker's head. The body dropped.

Carol held her crouch and opened her ears for any moans or shuffling gaits. Groans still came from the front of the building, but never grew louder. When no other walkers appeared, she plunged her knife into the one on the ground. Back and forth, she cut across the walker's stomach before dipping her sleeve cuffs in the gore. Then she applied a few quick swipes to her clothing, covering her arms and legs. With a sniff, she unlatched the door on the fence and collapsed against the electrical box. Her bag dropped unceremoniously next to her.

 _"Stop number one."_ She gulped, it all threatening to overwhelm her right then.

This was it.

Removing herself from her family because she could no longer fight for them. Sneaking away in the night with only one single letter to say goodbye, left with a man who didn't really know her. She shivered. _"They'll be fine,"_ the mantra returned, a steadying promise, that allowed her eyelids to droop shut.

* * *

She snuffled awake just in time to see a walker amble past the fence, paying no mind to her. It sighed and moaned its way back toward the front of the school. Goosebumps covered her skin where the gore had seeped through her shirt. She ran a finger through a bloody mark on her arm and found it still tacky. Squinting up at the sun's position, an unbidden thought formed, _"What if Tobin did wake up early-"_

Carol snapped her head, shearing that trail of thought off at the bud.

She made herself nibble on a granola bar and chug a small can of peaches while the sun crept over the wall of the school. As she chewed her breakfast, she tried to silence her thumping heart with assurances. Tobin would most likely wake up, unsurprised by her absence since she often woke before him, and take his morning shower. He'd take his time dressing, put on the flannel she had left out for him and lace each boot with care. Then, he'd venture downstairs and look for her on the porch swing. Only after would he maybe go back into the kitchen and find the note left near the coffee pot.

Carol tilted her head up, figuring, hoping, she had at least nine hours on him. By the time he notified Rick, closer to ten. Rick wouldn't allow their resources to be spread too thin, even if they disregarded her note and came after her. Surely he'd only allow a day for a search, maybe two. Probably less. With Negan looming on the back of every whisper and shadow, Alexandria would soon forget about her. Besides, Rick would reason, she had left a note, clearly intended to leave. Why fight against her wishes?

She folded the wrapper around the unfinished bar and stuffed it in her pocket. The empty can she tucked behind the electrical box.

Carol recalled Aaron and Eric's maps again, hands to the sky in a good stretch. _"It's maybe twelve miles to those storage units. That'll be stop number two_." Overhead, caught between seasons, the fluffy clouds clung to the sweetness of summer, while the stark blue of the sky hinted at the sharpness of winter. Still, no sign of rain.

 _"Ten hours down_ ," she mused as she buttoned up her coat. The fence gate creaked with a push, drawing the ambling walker. Carol sidestepped it and knifed its temple in one swing. _"Thirty-eight to go."_ Steady hands grasped the shoulder straps of her bag and she set off into a jog down the road again.

* * *

Sixteen hours, give or take, wilted away with only a that one nap under her belt. Her system swam with adrenaline, encouraging her to ignore the needles in her muscles, the ache in her head. As Carol's feet pounded down the road, backpack bumping against her lower back, she repeated, " _Forty-eight hours, forty-eight hours, forty-eight hours_."

Two days. Two sunrises. Two sunsets.

Carol kept her thoughts occupied with the upcoming storage units. If she was lucky, she'd find some camping gear. Maybe an extra sweater, or some batteries. More likely though, they'd be full of dusty comic books and old furniture, but at the very least, she could curl up behind one of those metal doors and catch another nap.

This was a marathon, after all. She would not reach her forty-eight hour goal without some pacing.

She sped down the road, outrunning any walkers she could, casually dispatching the ones she couldn't, until a cluster of burnt out vehicles stalled her. Four cars and a truck with a smashed front clogged the roadway. Carol sputtered to a stop and bent over her knees to catch her breath.

Only a collection of crunched beer cans tittered back and forth against the tires in the breeze. Between two of the cars, a swarm of flies buzzed over a body. To the left of the scene, the woods remained silent. To her right, an overgrown farmer's field, choked with tall grasses and prickly thorns. Some movement far in the field caught her eye. She raised a hand to block the sun; a walker for sure, but it didn't appear to be moving toward the road. As a precaution, Carol drew her knife, muscles poised to flee, then stepped forward to inspect the first car.

The back right door hung wide open, the leather sliced in several places. Inside, stuffing poured to the floor from slashed cushions. The entire thing stunk of stale death. Carol sucked in a deep breath and then reached under the driver's seat. Her hand found nothing but dirt and cookie crumbs. Diving back in under the passenger seat, her hand enclosed around what felt like a handle. She yanked on it while glancing over her shoulder.

It was an emergency kit.

She surveyed the area again, but nothing moved from the tree line to as far as she could see down the road. The walker in the field kept its distance. Carol licked her lips. With a zip, she opened the canvas kit and nearly laughed at how complete it was. She tossed the road flares, but bagged the collapsible shovel, fruit snacks, and crackers. The jackpot was the first aid kit, complete with Band-Aids, disinfectant, bandages, and pain killers. Expired pain killers, but useful nonetheless. There was also a silver emergency blanket that she stowed in a side pocket of her bag.

The trunk yielded nothing but wiper fluid and jumper cables.

The keys were nowhere to be found.

Once her new gear was stashed, Carol crept up to the next car, this one surrounded by a halo of shattered glass. It was more of a scorch mark than a vehicle. The charred occupants of the car were unidentifiable. She was about to turn away from the scene when a wafting scent of burnt skin invaded her nose. It crawled up her brain and shot a repulsed shockwave down her spine. Carol jerked back, frantically covering her nose with her sleeve.

Even so, that small smell was enough.

Her vision tunneled. All her survival intentions slipped away. She was whisked back to the prison, a cotton handkerchief to her nose, the smoking bodies of Karen and David cracking and sizzling. Carol staggered, her whole body swinging right. Her hand flew out to the car door in hopes of finding something to anchor herself, but it did not hinder the memory onslaught.

 _The stink of gasoline, the spark that died in her heart when she made the decision to kill them._

Her head wrenched away from the sight and stench but she collapsed to her knees, black memories pounding her like a tsunami.

 _How she thought about throwing a bucket of water over the smear and then never found time._

 _How her clothes reeked of smoke for weeks._

 _The way Rick glared at her, as if she had grown devil's horns and fangs. Coldly left her behind without telling the others. "They won't want you there. I don't want you there."_

 _The gasping noise Karen gurgled with her last breath._

 _The silence that filled the cell after her knife punched through David's temple._

 _So much blood._

 _The way her arms shook as she dragged them outside._

On her knees, her shoulder's quaked as she broke into a coughing fit. Hacking, spit dripping from her mouth, she heaved uncontrollable sobs. Gravel pressed into her palms as she attempted to steady herself. A breathless second passed, then another cry rose from her.

Too much blood.

Too much death.

Too much.

Something rumbled in the distance, thrusting her back into her present vulnerability. The road vibrated. A car! Scrambling against the shattered glass and gravel, her arms and legs burning, Carol just managed to duck in the drainage ditch as a car appeared over the rise. She pressed every inch of her body into the curve of the channel and willed herself to blend in under the leaves of the dying ditch lilies.

 _"Please pass. Please pass."_ Even with her nose buried in the ground, the smell of burnt flesh stung her nostrils, making her gag. Carol clamped a hand over her mouth.

The road hummed as the vehicle slowed to navigate the wreckage. _"It would have to swerve left, probably graze the side of one and-"_ There was a sick crunch, and she knew whoever was there had run over the fly-ridden body. A beer can cracked under a tire. Even with one ear against the earth, she could hear the muffler clatter. Just as she thought it was continuing on its way, the engine died and two doors opened.

"Was this here last month?" A low voice questioned.

"No, it's new." The second voice was then replaced by a squawking portable radio. "Doesn't look like any of ours."

Her lungs began to protest. Each inhalation was more dirt than oxygen, but Carol laid rigid as a board. She didn't recognize either of the voices, and calling up the run calendar on Rick's wall, couldn't remember anyone from Alexandria due to be out today.

"Hey, what's that!?"

"Over there?"

Cold sweat broke over her skin. Immediately, Carol griped her knife and turned her head to try and view the men. But the severity of the slope made it impossible to see the road. She sucked in a dirty breath and exhaled it through gritted teeth, counting their steps, waiting for them to jump off the road to inspect her, probably assuming she was freshly dead. Prime pillaging. _"Two more kills."_ Weariness settled over her. _"Two more."_

Radio static broke the silence, crackling and then cut off with a beep. Relief washed over her; it sounded further away. From the ditch she caught a few grumbles and hesitant steps over crunched gravel. One kicked a beer can. She tilted her head up a fraction of a degree; they didn't sound like they were approaching her hiding spot after all. Carol clenched her eyes shut until both doors slammed, the engine kicked on, and the car pulled away. It roared down the road, faded to a hum, and then to nothing.

Carol stood and wiped the dirt from her chin. Her fingers fumbled over her belt as she sheathed her knife.

The three unsearched vehicles remained. Who knew what supplies could be hidden there? Another emergency kit? Canned goods? A lighter? Duct tape? One glance back at the decrepit cars and the barbed, smoky memories regenerated. She blanched and whipped away from the scene.

Attention back on the forest, Carol recalled her map again, guessing that with her intended path she'd reach the storage units within a couple of hours. Only one turn off the main road stood between her and her second checkpoint.

The road was silent now.

The road was empty now.

 _"It may not stay that way."_ Carol bit her lip while scrutinizing the wild undergrowth of the woods. Was it worth the risk? Traipsing back into the trees so soon? She abandoned the idea of the storage units, unwilling to chance another encounter. With a frown and a hard swallow, she turned her back on the vehicles, and fled into the woods.

* * *

Over the next day and a half, Carol traveled off the roads. After months of regular showers, her skin began to itch under the coat of grime. With gritted teeth, she resisted the urge to rub the dirt away and pushed herself harder.

 _"Not far enough yet, not yet."_

Wooded growth gave way to rolling hills, which sloped into grassy fields. She let her hands glide through the stiff blades, her own movements growing jagged and mechanical. Still, she repeated the steps, _"Shoulders back. Suck in your stomach. Move,"_ and latched onto the promise, _"They are fine."_

Until finally the dark red sky turned purple and clouds gathered thickly. She spent her second sunset with nothing but the whispers of the forests. No rescuers yelling her name. No cars squealing in the distance.

Nestled down with the emergency blanket, in what was once the basement of a farmhouse, Carol allowed herself a small bit of satisfaction. The stink of walker clung to her clothing. The stone wall dug into her back. Her food supplies were thin. But she was alone. "Forty-eight hours," she nodded, her mouth slanting into a grim smile.

Mission accomplished.

There, tucked away far from the nearest road, Carol, exhausted, let the guilt to set in. It was a creeping vine that she had constantly been clipping back since she had climbed over the wall. Now thousands of steps and tears away from her family, she let her defenses drop and it flourished in her heavy blood.

She left them all. On the edge of war, just as the community was coming together. She left. All hands would be needed and she effectively removed one piece from the machine. Made them weaker.

How could she?

What kind of woman leaves her family behind in the time of their most dire need?

But every guilt-ridden curse her mind drudged up, damning her, her tired heart retorted, _"It's better this way. I'd be useless."_

That night was a whirl of blaming and patching, excuses and reasons. Faster and faster, one argument was made and then another took its place.

Go back.

Stay.

Save them.

 _"This_ is _saving them, as much as it may save me."_

By the time the first drops of water fell through the trees, Carol was heaving, fingers digging deep trenches into her skin as she tried to hold herself together. Cool sheets of rain soon poured from the night sky, mingling with her silent tears. Under the umbrella of the forest, Carol tipped her head back and tried to fill her hollowness with rain.

 _"It had to be this way."_

She shifted against the damp foundation, burrowing as deeply as she could into the corner, her uneasy conscience grumbling into silence. For now, she took comfort, however small, in the fact that she was alone.

 _"It's better this way."_

Above, the wind howled, the rain pattered. There, with her goal met, sleep claimed her in a soggy embrace.

* * *

She dreamt of Karen and David, crimson, gasping. Reaching for her. The whites of their eyes stained pink. Carol ran toward them, but couldn't close the distance. Then she smacked into an invisible wall. From the ground she stared up into their bloody faces, gray skin pulled tight across their cheekbones. When she tried to sit up, Karen pushed her back onto what was now a cot, with a sad shake of her head.

David half turned away, then faced her with a knife, it's tip nothing more than a razor thin point, aimed straight at Carol's forehead.

Carol gasped awake, scratching her cheek against a sharp stone. The abrasion stung. Her watery eyes darted up, ahead, to the left, but found nothing but the towers of trees and the wall of stone. Carol pulled the crinkly blanket up to her chin with a shudder. No matter how far she ran, her ghosts still followed.

Persistent and heavy.

 _"It's better this way."_

She whimpered her way back into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Dawn broke with grey skies and a frosty chill. The rain had soaked down the foundation and into every inch of her clothing. After one shiver to clear any remaining nightmares, Carol stood with an unexpected sense of purpose. She winced as she stretched, one thought permeating her clear mind: Hopping from ruin to ruin wasn't going to get her through the winter. The emergency blanket, while keeping her body heat in, was not cozy enough to leave feeling of safety.

If she was going to attempt to manage her demons, she needed at least a door and four walls.

With a her new goal decided, Carol repacked her bag, grabbing fresh socks and shirt. Upon inspecting her toes, she flinched when her fingers passed over a puffy blister. She cursed herself; she had been so focused on running over the last two days that she hadn't felt the damage her pace wrought. Both her heals were rubbed raw.

After weighing the benefits of saving Band-Aids verses protecting her feet now, she opted to wrap her wounds; while two days had passed, she still wanted to put more miles behind her, take time to find a good place to settle. Her feet could heal whenever she eventually stopped. The wet clothing she stuffed in a garbage bag, to be washed later.

She climbed out of the foundation, aching.

As the wind rattled through the woods on its way to the coast, she let it guide her shoulders at a punishing pace. Every step sent pins and needles shooting up from her heel to the base of her neck. Her knees protested with audible pops and creaks. Winter would hit brutally, if the previous night gave any indication. The cold rain had frozen into hard, crunchy crystals on every rock, leaf, and stick.

 _"Just a little further,"_ she promised herself and for the first time since leaving Alexandria, Carol glanced over her shoulder at what she left behind.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Hooray, made it to the first real chapter. Thanks to all for reading and reviewing. I'd love to know what you think!


	3. A Place to Settle

**Disclaimer:** Nope, I don't own The Walking Dead!

* * *

It had been nearly a week since she left. Five sunrises. A collection of discarded canned goods. Maybe eight walker kills. Too many nightmares.

As she continued east, her nightmares invaded and desecrated any sleep Carol managed to catch. One terror had her up and out the door of an abandoned farmhouse when the stars were the only light source in the sky. She had shivered in her sweat-soaked clothing all day after that.

They weren't consistent, except in their horridness. Some were like the first, Karen and David standing over her, and she'd wake up with the weight of rocks on her chest. Other times, it was the Wolf she killed, grinning madly as his lips curled back over bloodied teeth. Mixed in with visions of her kills, other nightmares plopped her in a darkness so deep, she only heard the screams of Carl and Judith, rather than witnessing the scene. No matter how far she ran into the thick shadows, she never found the two children.

If the nightmares weren't enough, the fear of stopping too close to Alexandria still lingered in the back of her mind, and therefore, propelled Carol to keep running.

But her feet and aching body cried with the need to settle.

Carol entered a weed-choked trailer park at dusk. A gravel road looped in an oval, the rectangular homes positioned around it like shriveled flower petals. The lawns were a mess of shingles, beer bottles, and garbage, a pathetic scene even now. In the dying light, Carol pushed into the third one on the left. The floor creaked under her shifting weight, as if it was surprised by the sudden need to support someone.

Busted furniture littered the room. She peaked her head in the kitchen and found it gutted. The white tiles long stained brown. The bedrooms were nothing but a mess of shredded pillows and moldy clothing. But, the trailer was empty. No walkers, no people.

Halfheartedly, she barred the crooked door with a wooden chair and collapsed onto the musky rug. With tired eyes, Carol counted the last traces of human pacing in the carpet, dark and light patches that swiped away under her hand. Little indents in the carpet marked where heavy furniture once rested, reminders of someone's life.

This place wouldn't do, so she'd move on in the morning. Continue the search. _"It needs to end soon."_

She plucked off her right sock only to find the ankle caked in blood. Again. Carefully, Carol massaged the bottoms of her feet as she wiggled black and blue toes.

 _"I just haven't found it yet."_ Carol replaced her socks and boots, rolled over, and tucked her arms under her head. _"I'll find a place."_ The positive thought rang hollow, but it and other weak promises were what fueled her now. Sighing, she closed her eyes, knowing the inevitable nightmares would not be far behind.

* * *

She stirred only when the sun kissed her gently on the eyelids. Immediately, her nerves hummed with adrenaline, shaking away any remaining grogginess; it was the first time she hadn't woken up to her own yelling or the moans of walker. Carol bolted to the front window. Through the narrow blinds, she spied nothing but empty trailers.

No movement, not even a busy squirrel.

Her skin itched and she scratched at the goose bumps on her forearm. Movement beyond one trailer drew her attention. A walker ambled from behind a tree, sluggish and barely more than bones. It disappeared behind a trailer and then appeared again on the other side, aimless. With a hesitant shrug, Carol judged it to be harmless, and went to gather her things.

Her hands were buried in her bag when another tingle rushed over the back of her neck. With a jolt her eyes shot to the door, but she neither heard nor saw anything. She bit her lip. Knife in hand, Carol snuck up and down the length of the trailer, peeking out through the smash glassed and broke frames. From no angle did she find evidence of someone or even that random walker. Just trees rustling in the wind. The visual evidence did nothing to stamp out the nudge in the back of her mind; something was there.

Carol glared out one window, frowning at herself, _"Who would be out there?"_ In protest of her groundless paranoia, she convinced herself to take the time to turn over soggy boxes, open drawers, and poke around cabinets. Her restraint rewarded her with a small bag of pretzels, which she tucked next to the others in her bag, and a can of refried beans.

Carol licked her lips and then swung her bag over her shoulder with a grimace. Another glace through a window pane and still nothing. _"That walker must have wandered off into the woods..."_ After a significant pause she left the trailer and its safety behind.

* * *

Throughout the day, Carol would stop and listen to nothing. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end at every crunched leaf, at every overturned rock, at a woodpecker's knocking. Whatever had set her nerves on end loomed in the shadows and disappeared in the foliage. Invisible, but present. Sometimes she'd jerk around in an attempt to catch it, but met only wilderness.

Her sleep-deprived mind struggled to make sense of it. Out of fear, she first guessed that her unseen stalker it was someone from Alexandria.

She quickly discarded that with an eye roll. If someone was following her and hadn't revealed themselves, then they couldn't be her family. Just couldn't be. Because they would surely grab her by the shoulder and beg her to come home, not follow her deeper into the woods. They'd call her back with good intentions and kind words.

Her second guess was that, at best, her pursuer was someone curious; what kind of woman traveled the woods alone? But Carol didn't have time for odd wanderers and that idea seemed even more preposterous. Nobody wastes their time following anybody these days; people took what they wanted and ran. _"If it was a random person, they would have already killed me and taken what I have."_

After turning around and around, yet finding nothing but trees and rocks, Carol finally concluded that her shadow hunter must be her guilt manifested. Always following her, tripping up her steps. Her nagging follower identified, Carol refused to pay it anymore attention; it only distracted her from her goal.

However, she kept her knife drawn.

* * *

Carol zigzagged her way down a narrow ravine, turning her feet sideways to help prevent any sudden slipping. Back and forth she wound her way down to the creek. At the bottom, Carol bent to fill her water bottle. She screwed the lid back on her bottle with shaking hands. Two empty bottles remained in her bag; she just couldn't carry the extra weight anymore.

Shoulder's sagging, Carol trudged through the woods along the stream, the pulsing water her steady companion. Too tired to unload her pack, she had skipped lunch and pressed.

Over time the stream widened. Instead of just a straight, rocky bed, it grew into one with bends and dips, sandy benches, and terraces. The steep ground evened out with the stream into a valley. Eventually, the creek dumped itself into a much larger stream. Carol sucked in a deep breath once she reached the juncture of the two water sources. A little waterfall stirred up a collection of foam at its base which slowly dispersed into the larger stream.

She turned and followed the flow of the larger creek.

Ahead, a shape grew out of the forest, a dark patch on the far bank. _"Could be anything."_ Her heart jumped despite her warning. _"A trick of the trees. Or ruins."_ Still, she locked her gaze and hung her hopes on it, watching it reveal a bit more of itself as she crept closer. Her feet shambled to a stop when she faced it.

A log cabin. Intact. Moss colored its old shingles, creeping from the waterlogged cracks. Traces of white paint lined the doorframe and porch railing.

It was perfect.

Her knees buckled.

It sat back on the high bank of the stream. The creek was wide here, with a three foot drop from where she stood. The rise was only higher on the other side. Carol lobbed a rock into the water and watched it disappear into the muddy depths.

A burst of energy set her off down the bank, looking for a shallow place to cross. For the first time in days, the blisters did nothing to hinder her steps. The cabin had retreated into a blurry shape by the time Carol found a shallow bend in the creek. She hopped from stone to stone, swinging her arms to counteract the weight of her backpack.

Once on the other side, Carol set off into a jog, and digested the situation. _"I can get water from the creek. It also provides a bit of protection; it's too deep for walkers."_ It was if her brain suddenly kicked back on; vision after vision of calm days spent nestled away in the cabin played before her eyes.

 _"Careful, Carol. You need to make sure it's safe first..."_

It was beautiful in its seclusion. Surrounded by mature trees and oozing rustic charm, the scene looked like something worthy of a painting. Tentatively, Carol climbed up the leave-strewn steps and knocked on the door. Nothing. "Easy, easy," she murmured, hand turning the knob. Her heart nearly stopped when it clicked open.

She poked her head in, instantly inhaling the smell of wood and old fire. There were no traces of death. Nobody was inside. In its quiet emptiness, she sighed, _"Finally, finally."_ With one last spurt of strength, Carol locked the door behind her and eased to the floor, embracing sleep in seconds.

* * *

In the morning, like a hermit crab poking around a new shell, Carol prodded around her cabin with light fingers and hard eyes. It was divided in half, parallel with the door. The front room was all wood floors, hefty boards fitted snuggly together. A misfit rug failed to brighten the place even with its yellow and blue swirls. One window broke up the right wall and behind her, the front door shared its facade with another window.

The back room was clouded with even more dust, and unlike the front room, held a fireplace. A broom rested against the red brick. Her boot bumped a loose nail and her flailing sent a barrage of particles up her nose. Three hard sneezes eventually cleared all the dust. With a sniff, Carol almost laughed; this place had gone untouched by anyone for years, a perfect getaway.

In one crowded corner there was a stack of old newspapers. She picked up a ripped page, all yellowed and faded. The headlines spoke of the early outbreak, the first victims in Virginia, government's plans for combating it. They spoke of hope when there wasn't any. Without ceremony, she crumpled up the pages and threw them in the opposite corner; they'd make good fire starters.

Buried beneath the newspapers she found several packets and bags of seeds. She flipped each one over, finding labels in a jagged script: carrots, cabbage, sunflowers, green beans, hot peppers. The paper bags sat heavily in her palm; she could live here for a long time with these. The winter months would be hard, no doubt, but come spring, she could plant a garden. There would be fish and small game available.

She held back tears.

Carol stepped back and stared at the roof. A good sweeping was all it needed. Just then a hard gust rushed against the back wall, but Carol grinned when no drafts leaked through the boards. She reordered the seeds on a small shelf next to the brick fireplace, a small wave of hope washing over her.

She grabbed the broom and furiously swept the floor. Cobwebs disappeared out the front door. A few pokes with the handle up the chimney revealed an open flue; now all she needed was some firewood for the coldest nights. After dusting the place, Carol moved her bedroll and meager belongings into the back room.

Hands on her hips, she admired her work.

 _"Maybe I should keep the bag packed,"_ she pondered, her caution reappearing. But what was there to worry about? The walls were sound, the chimney functioned, the door locked snugly. She was days from Alexandria and all its troubles, far enough that she could finally settle and work through her own. Her two-day cut off was well and gone.

Her fingers traveled over the zipper to her backpack, unzipped it halfway and then promptly closed it again. "I'm going to check the foundation,"she blurted and then bolted out the front door.

Her heavy steps did nothing to sag the porch steps. Carol bent over and peered under the small deck; all the supports were solid. She rounded the corner, sharp eyes scrutinizing every crack in the mortar, but found none that hinted at severe decay. The field stone foundation repelled her kick with ease. Around the back, in one final test, Carol crouched down to the first wooden panel and searched for tell-tale signs of termites. The only holes she found were those in her argument for leaving.

She straightened with a slow nod, the idea of not running slowly working like a massage over her shoulders, down her lower back, and into her feet. Fingers pressed to her mouth, Carol took in her new home, her travels justified. "This will work."

A loud splash came from the creek. Carol snatched her knife from its sheath, ready to defend her precious find. There was some sloshing but then it quickly ended; must be one walker caught in the muck. Foot by foot, she slid along the side of the cabin towards the front to assess the walker's position; she could hear it struggling in the current. She'd have to configure a way to spike it through the head if it was stuck in the middle of the stream, just out of reach. _"Could make a spear, tie my knife to a branch..."_ Now that she had found this place, she'd dowhatever was necessary to keep this place safe.

Just as she reached the front corner with her plan, her blood froze.

That was no walker.

Daryl trudged up the bank, stilling mid stride when their eyes met. He was a pathetic scarecrow, all torn jeans, disheveled hair, leaves caught in the frayed cloth of his shirt. The stream had soaked the bottom half of his pants, dying them an even darker shade of black.

Her vision spun. Her knife wobbled in her grasp.

Daryl.

Daryl was here.

She shook her head, trying to rid the image of him, but as her eyes came back into focus, he was a few steps closer and no less real. Finding her voice, she croaked, "What are you doing here?" Her trembling arm flung out to find the cabin wall for support.

"Been trackin' ya," Daryl answered with a shaking voice that betrayed his confident words.

Still dumbfounded, Carol swallowed her retort. He looked like he'd been out in the wild for days, muddy clothing, dark circles under his eyes. She scrambled to remember any definitive trail she had left, only recalling her walker kills. _"But that shouldn't have been enough for him to find me..."_ She had avoided walkers more than she had killed them and they were spaced too far apart to lead anyone anywhere.

How?

As she gawked at him, Daryl broke the silence, "I know you don't wanna be brought back." His shoulders and voice slumped in unison. Fidgety fingers trailed over his crossbow strap but he made no further attempt to approach.

Carol blinked, his admission setting her back into action. She curled around the side of the cabin to stand in between her home and his intrusion. A new explanation for her previous paranoia came to her; was it Daryl who she had sensed in the trailer park? Venomously, she spat, "How long have you been following me?"

"Since the day you left," he confessed.

Six days ago. For six days he'd been on her trail. Carol tore her eyes away from him, the feebleness of her escape collapsing around her. How foolish of her. Even with all her planning he still tracked her. Carol cursed herself; she should have known that trying to hide from him out here was like visiting someone's house and being surprised when they found you locked in their cupboard. It was idiotic to think she could escape from him in his element. With a bitter swallow, she recalled her original plan to stick to the road and how she had cast it aside in a moment of weakness.

Of course he came after her.

Of course he found her.

Why hadn't she just stuck to her plan? If she had just done that, then maybe she could have shaken him off her path.

Her anger flared, sharp and painful. "Why are you just appearing now?" He had been following her for days, letting her tramp around in the woods, biding his time. If this was some kind of appeasement, it stung like salt forced into open wounds. "'Did you plan on letting me run away and then drag me back after telling me it's inevitable? Was this you letting me 'have my moment'?" She taunted him, ignoring the horror in his gaze and the way he flinched as if struck.

How dare he. How dare he let her think she had escaped and then haul himself up the bank with those hopeful eyes. "I didn't ask you to come." Carol spun around on her heel, dashed up the porch steps, and slammed the door behind her. For added protection, she slid the bolt into the locked position. Arms crossed over her heaving chest, she pressed her back against the door.

How could he?

The porch creaked. Carol clenched her eyes shut and put all her strength into bracing the entry. Her blood raced through her veins like a wildfire in a dry field, and her eyes reacted with heavy tears. After all her planning, all her running, and then to have her one glimmer of success crushed in a single moment...

"Carol." The door muffled his exhausted plea.

"Just go away!"

"Can't do that."

"I'm not leaving!" He could bust down the door if he really wanted. A couple of good running pushes and a knife to the lock and it would splinter open, exposing her. Like a fool, she had picked a place with only one entrance. She snorted at herself; like she could outrun him if she tried. Her throat raw, she yelled again, "I am not leaving!"

There was a pause, maybe his boot scraping against the porch. Her feet struggled to find purchase on the rug, her final defiance as the inevitable pressed down on her, nullifying everything she had gained over the last week. He'd take her back, and she'd go, because her defenses were worthless against him.

"I ain't draggin' ya back."

Her legs crumpled, last drops of resistance sucked out of her with five words. She wanted to laugh, because he couldn't have said what she heard. Maybe she was truly delusional now, her last tidbit of hope conjuring falsities. Surely she had misinterpreted him. Carol tilted her head against the door and with a rueful chuckle inquired, "Then what the hell are you doing out here?"

Daryl's low drawl came through strongly, "'M gonna stay."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Hmm, wonder what Carol's reaction will be? This was hard to write this chapter. I didn't want to drag out Carol's journey too long, but I wanted to highlight her need to put space between her and Alexandria. It was also difficult to write her reacting to Daryl that way, but I think given her thought process and the lengths she went to get where she's at, she could respond like that.

My general process with this fic is to write it and not spend hours and hours picking it apart (My typical process, haha). Otherwise, I'd never get it done. So, I'm sure there are mistakes scattered about, but I'd love to hear what you think! Thanks so much for reading, following, and reviewing!-randomcat23


	4. Gale Song

**Disclaimer:** Nope, not mine!

 **Note:** Switching to Daryl's POV for a chapter. This takes place before the Prologue and during Chapters 1 and 2. Title for this chapter comes from the song by The Lumineers of the same name.

* * *

He drank.

Downed those bottles like water. Finished one, tossed it in the grave, buried it, and cracked open another. And another. Until the motion became methodical.

Twist.

Swallow.

Lob.

Shovel.

Twist.

All the while, Carol pled with him to look at her and he just couldn't. Couldn't meet the eyes of his best friend, the woman he loves. And definitely couldn't look at the mother whose daughter was the first girl he had failed. It was better to just glare at the ground than face whatever was in her gaze. Better to fill his mind with self-damning curses than seek any hope from her.

His throat burned with alcohol and his face with shame and grief.

Finally, he speared the shovel into the fresh mound, veins buzzing. Denise buried at last, Daryl stomped passed Carol, the bag of unopened bottles bouncing against his thigh.

* * *

Daryl pried his eyelids open and twisted his neck to look about the blank room. Those were his muddy footprints on the carpet, but he had no memory of crawling into bed. With a groan, he moved to sit up, but immediately regretted it as the motion set off a painful rush of blood to his head. He flopped back onto the crooked pillow, smacking his lips.

From under his arm, he dug out the plastic bag from the day before, hoping for just one more shot to prolong the numbness. It was empty. An angry huff followed the useless bag as he chucked it across the room.

 _"Worthless."_ Daryl only mouthed the word but felt its meaning sink into his bones. He laid there, letting the sun get high, and waited for the hangover to fully set in. The previous day came back to him in pieces. Daryl picked apart blurry images of train tracks and pill bottles, placing one before the other, focusing on several seconds before moving on to another scene, trying to remember how it all went to shit.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, but it did nothing to dampen the image of Denise.

Dead.

Bolt through her eye socket, a clean shot.

Passionate words fading as her last testament to life.

Daryl simmered in the guilt, picking apart the entire run and himself before throwing the pieces into the now boiling rage in his gut. Behind his clenched eyelids, Dwight sneered at him.

 _"She wasn't even the one I was aiming for."_

The sun burst into the room, the blinds no longer enough to keep it out. Light poured over the bed and like a heaven-sent message, Daryl resolved, _"I'll kill him."_

The mental declaration raced through his blood, each pump increasing the need to end the man who had screwed him over twice. With a sick need, Daryl pictured tracking Dwight down and, shooting a bolt through his own eye. He took time to conjure up the wet crunch of Dwight's skull as it was punctured. He saw how Dwight's mouth would go slack, blood oozing from the wound. Imagined the light flashing from the man's eyes as he toppled over onto his knees.

Daryl watched Dwight's death happen a thousand different ways, from a thousand different angles, until Daryl was shaking with anticipation. _"I'll fucking-"_

Someone hammered on the door. "Daryl?" Rick questioned, barely discernible through his pounding knocks. "Daryl?!"

The archer slid out of bed with a grumble, holding onto his dream of ending Dwight. Whatever Rick needed could wait. Retort on his tongue, Daryl stumbled once on his way to the entry. As he twisted the handle, Rick threw open the door. Daryl flinched when it banged against the wall, everything suddenly too loud, too bright. Rick raised a single eyebrow at his partner's disheveled mess before launching into the problem. "It's Carol. She's gone."

It was if lightning struck him and froze him to the floor. "What?" He barely recognized his croaking voice through the ringing in his ears. The world rocked and Daryl propped himself up against the wall.

"She's gone," Rick repeated, brow furrowed. "She left a note, apparently escaped last night." Rick raised a palm in defense against Daryl's snarl. "Everyone's outside, we're going to go look for her."

The call to action freed his legs and Daryl immediately turned to grab his weapons. He swayed as he bent to shoulder his crossbow. "How?" How could she be gone?

Rick grabbed him, ignoring his question. "Are you alright?"

With a huff, Daryl pushed passed him, "'M fine." The words hummed in the back of his throat.

"You don't look fine."

"Said 'M fine!" Daryl pounded down the staircase, taking them two at a time. At the landing he yelled back, "When did she leave?"

Rick was halfway down the steps when he answered, "I'm not sure. Tobin found her note this morning."

"What?" The world tilted again. Hard.

Rick sighed, "Apparently, he never heard her leave the bedroom."

Daryl's mouth went dry. It shouldn't have caught him off guard, or hurt as much as it did. He had seen her smile on the porch swing with the Alexandrian, watched her disappear into his house more nights than not over the last few weeks. Daryl cast the reemerging feelings aside and focused on the face that she had disappeared under Tobin's care.

How could Tobin have not woken up?

"Here." In Rick's outstretched hand rested a folded sheet of notebook paper. Daryl snatched it, feeling both invasive and possessive. "Read it." More kindly, Rick continued, "Take your time. I'm going to get everyone organized." Rick clasped Daryl's shaking shoulder briefly as he reached for the front door. "We'll find her."

It clicked shut behind Rick.

In the empty entryway, Daryl snapped his leaking eyes shut and raged silently, _"You worthless piece of shit."_

He had failed to judge Dwight correctly.

He couldn't keep Denise safe.

And now, Carol had disappeared without him knowing.

He pried Carol's note apart, but couldn't bring himself to read any of her words, couldn't bare to read what she had written for Tobin, probably some sad goodbye. Her words blurred into nothing more than dark smudges. Second passed as his thumbs dented the edges of the paper, until, with a jerk he snapped his fist shut around the note.

Blinded by guilt and failure, his vision tunneled. Just before all went black, Daryl stuffed the paper angrily back into his pocket. It didn't matter what her note said. All that mattered was getting her back. A new resolution mounted with each heave of his chest.

 _Go._

 _Go get her._

 _Go bring her back._

 _Go do something right._

 _For once._

With a strangled growl, he threw open the door.

In the street, Rick addressed the group of volunteers. Glenn and Morgan glanced up at the sound of Daryl stomping across the porch, but the hunter dropped his gaze and stormed off in the direction of Tobin's house. Behind him, he heard the group's hushed whispers, and then Rick's louder call to mobilize toward the front gate. From the pack of shuffling feet, Daryl picked up on one set that jogged after him.

"Rick says you can track her." The hope in Tobin's voice crawled over Daryl's skin. Daryl grit his teeth and picked up his pace. Tobin followed. "Should you start in my backyard? Maybe she climbed the fence there...or..." Tobin's voice and trot faltered. "I guess she could have left through the front door too...I don't know."

His fury exploded. Daryl spun around and jabbed a finger in the man's face. "You don't know, do ya?" The taller man shrunk under the hate laced in the question. "Are ya fucking _deaf_? How didn't ya hear her _leave_?"

"I, I don't know." Tobin rubbed the back of his head while simultaneously putting space between them. "She's quiet. I just woke up this morning and she was gone." He blinked once, composure crumpling, and admitted, "I wish she had told me she..."

Daryl stepped back with a snarl. His fingers brushed over the slight lump in his front pocket where Carol's note rested. He didn't have any time to waste helping Tobin with his shortcomings. Daryl ripped his attention away from the man's tears with a grunt and returned to his task.

Upon first inspection, Daryl found no scruff marks or displaced mud on Tobin's front porch, cut grass, or the mulch beds. Tobin began speaking again, but for the first time that day Daryl was thankful for the ringing in his ears. Without a glance at the other man, Daryl hiked around to the backyard to look for clues.

There he found much of the same: trimmed lawn, neat landscaping. Nothing was out of place or amiss. Undeterred, he buzzed across the yard, marching from back porch steps to the wall, and then back again. All the while, Tobin followed him with well-intentioned, but clueless suggestions until he ran out and simply spoke of his and Carol's final moments together.

How _happy_ she had been the last few days.

How she had left the house in _tip-top_ shape.

How devastated _they_ both were about Denise.

How _horrified_ he had been to hear about _her_ taken hostage.

How _they_ had _gone to bed_ after discussing what to make for dinner the following day.

Tobin's concern and care did nothing for Daryl's swelling headache or the pain in his chest. Without warning, Daryl's head swam again, forcing him to leaned over and brace himself against the house. His eyes threatened to dump tears. His stomach brimmed with rebellion. How was he going to find Carol when he couldn't even make it half-way across the community before halting to catch his breath?

"Are you sure you can do this?" Tobin's shadow blocked the sun.

Daryl groaned, "M fine."

Tobin crossed his arms over his chest, unconvinced. "It's okay if you can't-"

"Said 'M fine." Daryl shook his head to clear his sloppy vision. He could have kicked himself for being so weak and it irked him even more that it was Tobin standing troubled behind him.

"Carol's got all of us looking for her," Tobin insisted. "Don't push yourself. I'm sure Rick and I will find her."

Daryl willed his legs to straighten and faced the other man. " _Said_ 'M fine."

Tobin frowned, unfazed by the acid in Daryl's reply. "Well, alright." Tobin glanced in the direction of the front gate. "Feel free to look around." He nodded at the wall and then turned to return to the group. Over his shoulder Tobin said, "I'm going to get the search started with Rick."

Daryl glared at Tobin's retreating back, cheeks flared and unable to put on a stoic face. Rick would get them started with best intentions, but there was no way they would find Carol before he would. And there was no way in hell Tobin would be the one to locate her. Daryl held on to that belief as he ran half-blurred eyes over each inch, looking for anything; pieces of rope, the scratch from a ladder, anything.

Nothing.

 _"Worthless fuck."_

He took off along the wall, the curses he muttered growing harsher and harsher with each step. His body continued its revolt, punishing him with slow reaction and perpetual dry mouth. Daryl glared at each beam, each wave in the metal, wanting to find imperfections with them, but finding them only in himself.

 _"You worthless fuck!"_

Then, finally, hardly visible, he spotted it: the short metal rods sticking out of a beam. He raced forward with uneven steps, reached out, and touched one of the bars. It was already warm from the sun. Satisfaction bloomed briefly before Daryl pressed his mouth into a firm line; he still had a lot of work to do. With the day nearly half complete, Carol had hours and potentially miles on him.

With a grunt, Daryl grabbed one of the bars. During the short climb his sides burned. Each foot gained was a struggle, each bar seemed further than the last. Growling, Daryl finally heaved himself over the wall and managed to bend his knees in time to soften the landing.

There were her boot prints, the first ones deeper from her landing impact and the next ones shallower as she had taken off into the woods. Daryl laser pointed his eyes on the ground. He could tell from the print spacing that she was moving purposefully, but not quickly. Each track was a complete, rather than just a toe print that would have signified a running gait.

He worked his way through the trees and undergrowth. Twigs snapped under his rushed gait. He was running before he realized it, using up energy he just didn't have. Faster. He needed to go faster. He had to get her and bring her back! Daryl charged forward with the path, coming away from bushes with burrs clinging to every inch of him.

Then, just as his foot fell half way into a ditch, he fell to the side and vomited.

 _"Fucking worthless."_

His nostrils stung with each cold inhale, each sputtering intake of breath. He let out a strangled yell before punching the ground. Dirt flew. Down on his knees, his lungs labored, his mind drummed out consistent reminders of how he had fucked up.

Carol was gone.

As if getting duped by Dwight twice wasn't enough. As if failing Denise wasn't enough. He'd gotten drunk like a coward. Why couldn't he do just one, damn, fucking thing right?

He should have known.

 _"Worthless."_

Should have been there when she first pulled away.

 _"Piece."_

Should have burned those cardigans and oven mitts.

 _"Of Shit."_

Should have followed when she backed away.

Should have.

But now she was gone like a flash of lightning leaving him to thunder into a rage after her.

 _"You piece of shit."_

He had to get her back.

There was no other option.

* * *

Led by Carol's trail and fueled by anger, Daryl wandered over mushroom-ridden trunks and skirted around tangles of vines. When her tracks took a sharp turn, Daryl followed, chasing her ghost and his chance at redemption. Not far afterward, through the break in the trees he heard light footsteps and low murmurs. He stopped and opened his ears. Glenn's worried tone and Michonne's strained, but optimistic answer, sounded over the silence of the woods. Careful, so that he didn't lose Carol's path, he trudged through the thorn bushes and burst onto the road.

"Daryl!" Glenn jumped, gun half raised.

Michonne loosened her grip on her sword and offered Daryl a nod. "We haven't found anything yet," she reported, apology unvoiced, but implied. He ignored it.

"Found her tracks," Daryl stated gruffly. "She came back to the road here."

"At least we are going in the right direction then." Michonne peered over the ground where Daryl had gestured. "The rest of the search group split off at the last intersection. I should go back and get them."

Daryl took in the bare road behind them and then shook his head. "Stay with me." When Michonne raised an eyebrow, he continued, "Tracks won't hold for long, we gotta find where she left the asphalt." Daryl sidestepped as Glenn came over to see the boot prints.

"If she left the asphalt," Michonne mused.

Daryl shot her a glare; he wasn't willing to consider that they'd already seen the last of Carol's tracks. With a stiff jerk of his head, Daryl ordered Michonne, "Watch this side, I'll walk the other. Glenn, the road. If ya see footprints, holler."

The three formed a triangle of searching eyes. Michonne spotted two different tracks over the course of a mile, but when Daryl examined them, they had the dragging look of a limping walker. The further they went without picking up a trail, the tighter Daryl gripped his crossbow strap. Several times he considered walking both sides of the road, doubt about hid companions' skills creeping around his heart. But each time he was about to suggest it, he reigned himself in; they were Carol's family as much as he and surely were competent enough to notice tracks in the mud. For miles they walked, finding no evidence that Carol had left the road, until they reached a T-intersection.

"Now where?" Glenn glanced at Daryl over the lip of his water bottle. The shadows were growing long and the wind had picked up. No doubt that the other search groups were beginning to plan for the end of the day, having found not even a glimpse of the missing woman.

Daryl felt as if his head was being crushed between a vice. Now at a crossroads, the difficulty of this task, _his task_ , threatened to shred his resolve.

With a snarl, he paced down one direction and then came back to stalk down the other. Of course Carol was too clever, sticking to the road, keeping her trail as minimal as possible. At some point though, she would have to trek through mud or brush. In between needing shelter, walkers, and the live enemies that roamed the roadways, there was no way she could stay on a paved surface forever. But, the fact remained that she could have walked the road for miles without interference. He began to wonder if he had messed up somewhere along the way and had picked up another's trail.

 _"Can't be that incompetent,"_ Daryl reasoned. It did nothing to shake his growing doubt.

His neck prickled under Michonne's and Glenn's gaze, awaiting his decision. Waiting for him to do his fucking job. But he didn't have an answer and there wasn't time to pick the wrong path. It would be dark soon and they needed a solid lead before night fell.

Everything hurt. With one hand resting on his hip, Daryl cradled his aching head in the other.

Splitting was the wrong idea. _"'M the only one who can track well enough."_

It wasn't safe to go alone. _"But that's exactly what Carol's doin'."_

Doing nothing wasn't an option either. Remaining at this intersection would get them no closer to Carol than turning around toward Alexandria would.

They needed to move, needed to find her path.

They couldn't wait till tomorrow.

Daryl paced again, thankful that Glenn and Michonne had decided to keep quiet. He didn't have time for indecision. He didn't have time to make the wrong one. Back and forth, back and forth, Daryl stomped down each direction, glaring at the empty road as if his death stare would convince the right path to present itself.

 _"This ain't the end of her trail. It can't be."_

Midstride, his fingers slipped from his hip midstride and caressed a little lump in his jean pocket. Momentarily perplexed, Daryl dug out the offending object and turned it over in his hand, the paper catching just slightly on a calloused thumb.

Carol's note.

Like an anchor suddenly dropped off the side of a boat, the note brought him staggering to a halt.

He scoffed, _"What am I doin'?"_ Standing in the middle of the intersection without a trail to follow, Daryl was struck still by his own folly and pride.

From the moment Rick had informed him of her disappearance, Daryl had wanted desperately to come out, guns blazing, find her and bring her home. Safe. Alive. To prove something to himself, that he could still protect, that he wasn't completely useless. With all his failures stacked against him, the last thing he was going to do was allow Carol to disappear from his life again.

All day it had been about what he needed to do to redeem himself, to erase all the loses he was responsible for. All this running around, this bullheaded attempt to push through the hangover, and he hadn't even considered _why_ Carol left.

He nearly laughed at the idiocy, so clear to him now. Hunting down and killing Dwight would not bring Denise back. It would not accomplish anything other than his self-centered need for revenge. Likewise, running after Carol and bringing her back would not bring redemption upon his sorry ass. She didn't go through these great lengths to disappear just so he could come lumbering after her and prove something. There was obviously a reason Tobin shared the note with Rick, who in turn, insisted that Daryl read it as well. But no, Daryl had stuffed it away, afraid of what could be written there and too eager to get out and do something.

How could he have been so selfish?

Daryl forced himself to smooth his trembling fingers over the curled corners of the paper. Palms sweating, Daryl tore his eyes over her written goodbye.

Slowly.

With care.

To try and understand what she needed, rather than what he wanted.

And what she needed shattered his heart and dowsed his rage.

At the end, he folded up her declaration and tucked it back in his pocket, throat tight. With small pat over the note, Daryl hung his head. When he looked up and narrowed his eyes down the road, a new goal with Carol's needs at heart, took the place where his revenge had rested.

"Daryl, which way should we go?" Glenn asked gently, breaking his thoughts.

Daryl sucked in a breath. That part, he still didn't know. But he knew he'd figure it out. He had to. For Carol. "Go back to Alexandria," Daryl rasped over his shoulder.

"What? No way man."

"We're not giving up," Michonne promised.

"Go home."

"Daryl-" Glenn cut off, head jerking around. Daryl heard it then too, an odd clop-clopping noise. With nothing more than a shared wide-eyed stare, they raced to hide. Just as three of them scurried toward the tree line, Morgan appeared over the rise on the back of a horse.

Glenn's clipped laughter broke the silence.

"Glad I found you." Morgan offered a tight smile. "Rick and I found a few slaughtered walkers down by an old school." He didn't need to, but he added, "They were fresh kills. There was an empty fruit can too. We think it was Carol."

"Where?" Daryl got in close, as if his proximity would help him get the answer faster.

"Just back a few miles." Morgan dismounted and tilted his head at Daryl expectantly. "Rick swung around to grab the other group."

"'M goin' after her."

"We're still coming with you." Glenn followed Daryl.

Daryl shook Glenn off with a glare. "I got this. Get back to Maggie."

Michonne cut in, "You can't go by yourself."

"Got to. Go back. Rick needs you."

"Don't be ridiculous," Michonne hissed. "We still don't have a sure trail. We need you!"

"Carol needs...!" Daryl huffed, face flushed. He backpedaled, biting his lip, "She wants to be alone. She tried this before, back in Georgia. I shoulda..."

Morgan cut in, "No, Daryl should go by himself. It'll be good that it's you." The trio locked onto him and his declaration. Morgan smiled weakly. "Carol's going through a lot-"

"What do you know bout it?" Daryl stepped closer, suddenly remembering seeing small conversations between Carol and Morgan. It had stung almost as much as the private life she had shared with Tobin.

Morgan held up a hand. "Just that... I went through something similar." The horse head butted his shoulder lightly until Morgan pat its neck. "I tried to help her, but I realize I only made it worse." His eyes shone brightly. "I am sorry."

So many questions raced to the tip of Daryl's tongue. How much did Morgan know about Carol and what exactly had he done to worsen her condition? Daryl sidestepped, glaring at the man, but pressed his lips shut. Whatever had happened, he wanted to hear it from Carol, not Morgan.

"Why should it be me?" Daryl finally asked.

After a pause, Morgan said, "I think you know why."

Before Daryl could pick that cryptic answer part, Glenn threw his backpack to the ground with a heavy sigh. He gestured to Michonne, who picked up on his idea and handed him extra food and a flashlight from her own bag. Glenn's practiced hands packed the materials quickly. He then pressed the full bag into Daryl's arms, who tried to give it back. "Don't fight me on this. I may not know what's going on with Carol, but I still don't think this is a good idea." Once he shoved two more water bottles into Daryl's bag, Glenn continued, "If you have to do this, then, do it. We'll be waiting for you guys."

Michonne creased her brow in thought, but eventually dropped her shoulders in acceptance. "Bring her home safe!"

"I will."

Morgan explained the location of the school carefully, and then with a nod to the three of them Daryl took off down the road. Anticipation curled into a knot in his stomach, like the one before war with the governor, or the attack on Negan's outpost. He may not know how to fight this battle, but he sure was going to try.

Carol's note had expressed her desire to be alone, but here he was, chasing after her. It irked him to go against her wishes and follow where he obviously wasn't wanted. But picking up on her cues and following them had, in part, gotten them into this mess. He hadn't pressed when maybe he should have. That much was on him.

Now wasn't the time to leave her alone.

As the stars rose, Daryl found the school and Carol's walker kills. Nearby, her prints were still neatly pressed into the mud. Weariness tugged at his eyelids, but determination forced him onward.

He didn't know where she was going.

She had many miles on him.

Daryl only hoped that he could catch up to her so that they could walk the rest of the way together.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Heeey, sorry for the delay. November was a crappy month for me and then this chapter kept expanding.

Thanks so much for reading. Reviews are greatly appreciated! -Randomcat23


	5. The Agreement

**Disclaimer:** Nope, I do not own The Walking Dead.

Thanks so much to readers and reviewers!

* * *

It was incomprehensible.

She turned his stated purpose this way and that, looking for the catch, the trap, but uncovered none. The clarity of his voice highlighted his honesty, his patience outside a signal to his good intentions. He really had ventured over rain swollen creeks, barren farm fields, and wooded plains just to be here for her.

She instantaneously sighed in relief and felt another brand of terror take over; Daryl staying was just as dangerous as her returning to Alexandria. Her fleeting relief and new dread thrashed together into dizzying cocktail. Sweat broke over her skin. Her shirt clung to her spine. He may not make her go back, but he would surely break her here.

"You've been runnin' a long time. If this is whatcha need...I wanna help."

Carol sucked in a ragged breath.

"Carol?" The doorknob jangled.

She had dammed it all up. Carefully constructed a behemoth of a barrier to keep it all at bay, all her pain, sadness, all her failure. All her kills. Alone, she had planned to slowly twist the valve and control what flooded out, sweep through it. If she was honest with herself, she had no idea what she actually needed to process it all. All she had known was that she didn't want to feel immobilized forever. But her inability to kill made her dangerous, so she had to remove the threat of her from her family.

This cabin had felt like a safe place to start healing. It was quiet and sturdy, far from everyone.

That was good enough. It was a start.

Daryl...he was too much. He saw through lies and forced truth out of her. With Daryl, the flood gates would open, an ugly, guilty, tidal wave surely the result and she didn't think she was strong enough to withstand it. But that wasn't fair; her secrets would crush even the strongest mountain and she wouldn't-couldn't-do that to him. Carol put all her weight against the door.

"No," she finally answered. "Daryl, no. You can't be here. I can't have that."

The knob fell silent. Two foot falls left, then back again. She could hear his stunted breath over her rapid pulse. "Why?" He finally ground out, the door whining under his pressure.

She thought she heard the snap of a splinter. Carol rocked, an uneasy swaying as she held herself. "Please don't..."

Daryl's resulting swear was followed by a _thud-thud-thud_. Her brown knitted in confusion until the raspy growls of walkers rose over the whisper of shuffling leaves. In a flash she was at the window, frantically imagining all her worst nightmares: His torn flesh, his blood staining the earth, the light leaving those blue eyes, her forced to save him from becoming a walker. Carol cried out and pressed her hands to the pane of glass.

Daryl had already shot a bolt through the eye of the far walker and was now dodging the lunges of two others. He backpedaled, bidding his time. The walkers advanced, tearing the air with their claw-like hands. They just missed his shoulder. Another swipe passed his thigh by inches.

Her breaths were deep, but unsatisfying. Her eyes were wide, but blurred. _"I can't lose...I can't."_

Carol tapped into the last of her strength and threw the door open. She ran down the steps and stabbed the closest walker in the back of the head. Distracted, the other snarling corpse turned from Daryl, who put his own knife through its temple. It released a horrible _squish_ when he retracted the blade.

Together, they caught their breath in labored huffs. Nothing moved except for the stream in its channel. When Daryl tried to meet her eyes, she dropped hers. Her lips in a thin line, Carol slowly straightened and whispered, "Daryl, please, just go."

Carol wept into her grubby palm as he dropped to the ground to flip one walker over and then another. It wasn't clear if he was listening; he was picking the pockets of the dead. There were no superfluous movements as his tight muscles worked under leather. Wallets, illegible business cards, and candy wrappers laid with leaves. Soon to be forgotten. She silently begged him to do the same with her.

All her careful planning, the reluctant strength it took to leave, the days spent running herself into the ground, the despair on his face that last day, topped with the note signed with her broken heart, wasted.

She shook. "I can't do this."

"Do what?" He, at last, stopped the brisk search, the useful items tucked into his bag.

An exhausted sigh rocked her frame. "Did you read my letter?"

Given the speed with which he looked at her, Carol expected her skin to ignite under his gaze. In that moment before their eyes met, she waited to be consumed, feeling it would be more than appropriate to have her husk burned up by his anger and betrayal. Better that than to drown in the tides unleashed by his concern. But when those ice blue eyes did catch hers, there was only a smoldering heat in them, and none of it directed at her.

"Yeah, I did," he punctuated the sentence by crushing the nearest skull.

She quickly set aside any questions. Now was not the time to dissect Daryl's anger at the mention of her note. Insistent, she reiterated, "Then you know I can't fight anymore."

He jerked his chin at the corpses and stood. "You didn' have any trouble takin' down that walker."

Carol almost laughed. "You know they're _not_ the problem!"

The real, unvoiced predicament hung between them. It was an ugly shadow, her inability to kill. If he said he had read the note, then he should know why she ran away. Of all people, he should understand her need to get away from people.

Daryl broke the stalemate, "You wanna run away? Fine." He paused to wipe his knife over his thigh and then sheath it. "But I ain't leaving."

"Why? I'm pretty sure there is nothing stopping you from turning around and walking back right now." She waved a wild hand in the general direction of Alexandria.

"Ain't safe out here," he reasoned and gathered his fists at his sides.

"Please, I can take care of myself." To prove a point, she crossed her arms and stood over the walker marked with her knife's strike.

Daryl shot back, voice rising, "What about herds? What about-"

"A herd nearly wiped out Alexandria." Carol shook her head and negated him, "Nowhere is safe."

Daryl ran a hand over his dirty face. "I could help ya."

She grimaced, "No-"

"I could! I'd try." He winced with the amendment. "Just tell me what ya-"

"I _need_ to be alone." She yanked away from his reaching hand. "You're _too_ much!"

Daryl's approach snapped off like a dry twig.

Her chest heaved. She didn't come out here to be rescued. She didn't leave to cause a scene. There wasn't a bone in her body left that could withstand the weight of being responsible for the death of another human being. And if that meant she could never be around him again, then so be it. "I meant what I wrote."

"Carol..."

"Stop." There was a part of her that appreciated his intention, but it was smothered by the fear of the consequences of him. She could feel it. The concern in his voice crawled over her skin like sticky pitch, expanding in the cracks of her defenses, chipping away pieces at a time. She didn't even dare name what else she felt under the heat of his eyes. "This isn't fair," she gulped. "I didn't ask you to come."

"Didn't hafta. I..." The hoarse words dropped when he met her watery gaze. The tension in his jaw slacked. Daryl retreated, punishing his lower lip between his teeth. Whether he'd actually punctured a hole or not didn't matter, Daryl deflated with a shake of his head. "'M sorry."

She turned away from him, the mud caked on his clothing, the raspy hitch in his voice. Arms crossed around herself, Carol focused on keeping her emotions in check. She could feel it all boiling under the surface of her skin. The first sign of weakness, a tear, leaked down her cheek. "Don't be sorry. Just leave."

In the devastating silence that followed, Carol climbed up the steps of her cabin and shut the door.

* * *

Hours passed. The blood on her hands dried and flaked into dust. Angry tears wet her cheeks. Once, she glanced out the window and saw that the walker corpses were gone.

Her shoulders wouldn't stop shaking.

Occasionally, she heard rustling outside, but could not bring herself to investigate. She tugged the curtains over the window. It was a weak barrier, but a barrier none-the-less. Trapped in the cabin, she kept herself sane by wondering what to do next. The simple need to make a plan was enough to stop the crushing wave of emotion. It also helped that since she could not decide what to do, her mind remained occupied.

More times than she could count, Carol packed her things and then promptly dumped them back on the floor with a frustrated sigh. Escape was futile. Stubborn as a boar, persistent as a starving dog, he'd found her once, he'd find her again.

She honestly wasn't even sure if she could physically go on the move again. Not yet, anyway, not with the injuries to her feet and the sheer exhaustion she was still recovering from. This cabin was too perfect and although she hadn't been here long, she felt protective of it. No, leaving was definitely not an option.

Chasing Daryl away did not feel right either; their friendship was worth more than that even if he ignored her wish to be left alone. It was simply too much to be near him. Her nerves frayed at the very thought of approaching him. Minute by minute, hour by hour, she shuffled across the floorboards, constantly afraid to look outside and desperate to know if he was gone.

The only useful thing she could think to do was take inventory. But after several attempts at trying to organize her new cabin, Carol threw her hands up in defeat. There were only so many times she could reorder the shelf of seeds, adjust her bedroll, or count her meager supplies. Back and forth, from room to room, she walked and dreaded what would happen if Daryl tried the door again.

In the end, she never needed to use any of the angry retorts she considered and the coiled tension in her back was for nothing. Her worry about the man outside wasn't enough to keep her awake. The night passed silently.

* * *

A loud _snap_ woke her. Carol jumped up with a groan, shoulder stiff from being squished against the floor. She blinked in the dim light of the early day, trying to orient herself. Sitting up, she shrugged on a sweater. Obviously, he was still outside; she could feel his presence, now that she was hyper aware of it.

She took three steadying breaths. Whatever hysteria she grappled with yesterday had diminished. Rationality grounded her. Daryl still needed to leave, there was no doubt in her mind about that, but the fact that he hadn't come knocking gave her hope that they could come to an agreement. After the noise outside continued, curiosity got the better of her and she opened the door slowly.

Daryl was at work between the trees. There were broken logs at his feet, the bark on the ends jagged and white, freshly cracked. Perplexed, Carol marched across to meet him, but any words she wanted to speak died and she simply watched him break logs.

Without so much as a glance, Daryl continued his work, snapping branches against one tree and then stacking them into a pile. After a while, he grabbed one, bent over it, and struck the jagged end until the shredded bits were smooth. He then plunged his knife into the earth between two trees and scooped out the loosed dirt. Again and again he dug in with the knife until nearly his entire forearm disappeared into the hole. Once it was wide and deep enough, he dropped the shaped log in the hole. It fit snuggly.

"Be outta yer way soon enough," Daryl broke the quiet. He tested the newly placed post with a toe.

Startled out of her stupor, Carol asked, "What are you doing?"

"Buildin' a fence."

"Why?"

He sighed heavily and finally looked at her. "If ya gonna be out here alone...at least this is something."

Carol tensed, doubtful of him actually backing down. "This is unnecessary." As she said it, she took in the work that he had done. Posts stood between most of the trees, creating a semi-circle around the cabin. There were piles of rocks, old rain barrels, and logs scattered about the area. It was much more than just a morning's worth of work.

"I wanna do it. I gotta." He was bent over again, making progress at yet another post hole. Even with the chill in the air, sweat had soaked through his shirt. She idly wondered if he had slept at all.

"You'll leave when this is done?" Carol asked, desperate for a confirmation before she let herself feel the wild gratitude that was swelling inside her chest.

His arm paused mid strike. Nervous fingers dropped to fidget over his lose shoelace. Daryl gave a solemn dip of his head.

Carol swallowed. How like him to heed her demand, but still find a way to help. Voice cracking, Carol asked, "You won't tell Rick where I am?"

"No."

Decision made, Carol stomped back into the cabin and dug through her belongings. At the bottom of her bag, her hang clasped around the shovel she had found on the road. He was going to build that fence one way or another. The least she could do was offer him a proper tool.

* * *

In the end, it took him three days to construct the fence.

Each morning, Carol opened her door to find a rabbit, gutted and already cooked, on the top of her porch. And each day after a silent 'thank you', she ate it by the cooling embers of her fireplace.

The blisters on her ankles healed from red and peeling to tender pink.

He never approached her door. She had no idea where he spent each night.

When he'd wander off to find more wood, Carol would go outside and dug another hole. She told herself it was because it would get him to leave sooner, but in reality she couldn't stand by and do nothing. He was doing this for her, after all. The second she heard his returning tread crunching through leaves, she retreated and watched him drag more logs into the clearing from the safety of her porch.

In the cabin, her extreme need to push him away dissipated further, so much so, Carol barely recognized the woman she had been when he first climbed up the stream bank. She had convinced herself so thoroughly that her family would forget about her that she had written off anyone finding her as an impossibility. Daryl not only destroyed that supposed truth, but expressed an aspiration to help her. He was willing to remove himself from the safety of Alexandria just to be with her. And when she threw his offering back in his face, he still did what he could to protect her. The possibility that someone would go to such lengths for her after all the trouble she caused had never crossed her mind.

A few times, she almost joined him at the fence, but every time pulled her hand back from the doorknob. Spending too much quiet time with him would have dragged out the very things she wasn't ready to talk about.

It was still too soon, so she remained hidden in the cabin. But she could not deny the fact that his attention and actions strengthened her.

He did not seem discouraged by her distance, however. Outside, Daryl dug, carved, and set fence post after fence post in the ground. Slowly, he filled in the space between the trees and posts with a mishmash of stacked logs and old rain barrels filled with rocks. Daryl slapped mud and sticks on the structure to camouflage the bright blue plastic barrels. Several times she caught him pushing his shoulder against the wall to test its strength. When it budged, he reinforced it.

As the sun set on the third day, the wall extended around three sides of the cabin. About waist high, it would not hinder any live human being, but it would deflect any dead into the creek or around the small structure. At the very least, it would buy her precious time to escape across the creek in the event of a herd.

* * *

There was no rabbit on her porch the following morning. Instead, a thick flannel had been folded crookedly and placed on the top step. It was damp to the touch, but she caught a faint whiff of tobacco under the smell of creek water when she brought it to her nose. Next to it, a packet of peanuts and a small jar of peaches. Tears instantly pooled in her eyes. She picked up the shirt and food with care, knowing that anything he could have given her, he had left here.

Suddenly frantic, Carol whipped around searching for him. She hadn't spoken to him for days, but now needed more than anything to say 'thank you'. For everything. He wasn't in his usual spot by the wall. After traipsing down the stream a ways, she spotted Daryl on the other side of the creek and he halted when she yelled after him. Carol ran downstream to the shallow bend and splashed across the rocks. When she finally reached Daryl, she did what she should have done the moment he found her days ago: she threw her arms around him.

It had been too long.

"Thank you."

"Carol-"

"I'm sorry-"

"Stop." Daryl embraced her, burying his head in the crook of her neck. The small sign of affection ended the need for any explanation she had prepared. When they separated, he lingered close and she had to step back with an apologetic smile.

He stuffed his shaking hands in his pockets. "There's a dump over a hillside, maybe a mile downstream. That's where I got those barrels," Daryl explained, never once looking away from her. "If ya need weapons or whatever, might find something there."

"I'll remember that." Carol bobbed her chin, but couldn't stop her cheeks from flushing under his intense gaze. Her mouth opened, but she found herself incapable of saying goodbye.

He took initiative by wrapping her up in another quick hug, but it was not fast enough that he could hide his cracking resolve. "Ya do whatcha gotta do." Daryl squeezed her shoulder and then abruptly separated himself from her. "Is it..alright if I...check up on ya? Won't bother ya, just..."

Carol gripped his arm. She didn't know she needed to hear those words until he spoke them. In so many ways, she did not deserve his understanding after how she had treated him. But, now that Daryl gave it, she realized she had craved it. She needed someone to say, _'It's alright_. _'_

"Please, I'd like that," she wept, composed herself, and then finished, "Come back soon."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Wooh, finally! Sorry this one took a bit longer to finish. Thanks so much for reading. I'd love to hear what you think.

Just a heads up: The next update will probably be delayed, sorry! February marks my 13th year on this website and I'm working on a bunch of new stories to celebrate. There are a handful of Caryl one-shots I plan on posting...I'd like to get this story updated as well, but we'll see how it goes.

Anyway, thanks again, and don't hesitate to drop me a review or PM!-randomcat23


	6. A Change of Plans

**Disclaimer:** Nope, not mine!

So, I realize that the show is apparently still taking place in the summer. Not sure how that timeline works out, because they got to Alexandria in the summer and it's definitely been more than a few months since then...Anyway, long story short, I'm sticking with my 'winter is coming' time frame!

* * *

A dozen times he nearly risked a glance over his shoulder, just to catch one last glimpse of her, or the shape of her cabin fading into the trees. Even though his neck twitched one way or the other, Daryl never completed that wish, afraid that if he stole even the smallest peek of her retreating form, his will would crumble and he'd sprint back to that tiny cabin.

His entire existence had been defined by shortcomings lately. Carol's aloofness since they had reached Alexandria. Trusting Dwight. Losing Denise. It was a constantly growing list of hash marks, piled on others that date back since before the world fell.

Successfully tracking Carol and finding her tucked away healed his jagged insecurity; he could still do that right. Fully prepared to kill a thousand walkers or walk the earth again for her, he had declared he'd join her in the isolation. But, again he was foolish in his expectation; her insistence that he leave, even with the permission to return, stung like another failure.

As leaves rained down on him, Daryl cursed his self-pity. He trusted her enough to know what she needed and he respected her enough to listen. He had the bloody fingers and the sore back to prove he left everything out there for her. Daryl flexed his hand, tendons tight over bone, and wondered if it was enough.

 _"'S gotta be. Don' getta say in it."_

The best thing he could do now is stay true to his word, give her time, and return when he could.

* * *

Carol's winding path to get to the cabin was far from the easiest or most direct way. He repeated her trick of keeping to the road when he could, just in case there were other people out there looking for footprints to follow. As he crossed back over miles and miles of desolate land, every pile of bones and sagging fence a reminder of the dangers out here, he tried to piece together a plan for once he reached Alexandria.

There would be questions. He'd been gone longer than expected and, without a doubt, Rick and the others would wonder why Carol wasn't with him. In his mind's eye, Rick cocked an impatient eyebrow with a sigh. Their leader was many things, but empathetic to those who struggled was not one, even one of their own.

Daryl bit at the corner of his thumb and spat away the loose skin. _"Carol wants to be alone. So that's what I'll tell 'im."_ Daryl wasn't fool enough to expect Rick to accept that explanation without a fight, but without any information, there was no way Rick would be able to track her down and disturb her solitude.

Tobin was another problem, one for which Daryl could not form a straight answer. The man obviously cared about Carol and she must have harbored some affection for him; Daryl acknowledged that awkward fact and decided that Tobin probably deserved some kind of explanation. _"He gets the same answer as Rick. She wants to be alone, that's that."_

Daryl ignored the undeniable confrontation that would come. If that was his go-to answer, he'd have a hard time explaining why only he should be allowed to visit her and only himself. As he enclosed upon Alexandria, no matter how many times he turned the scene around in his head, an easy justification eluded him.

* * *

The sun was well on its way to noon when Daryl spied Alexandria's gates. He smacked his dry lips and picked up his lagging pace, yearning for a long nap. A frosty breeze sifted through the dying trees and whistled through the cracked windows of the cars lining the street. It snapped at his chapped hands, which he quickly cupped and blew into. With a shiver, he hoped Carol stayed warm as the days grew short.

Now that his destination was in sight, he reviewed his plan. He'd need a few days to get the stiffness out from his hands and back. During that time, he'd collect supplies for Carol, barter for some chocolate with Olivia, perhaps. It irked him that with the coming winter months, extra goods would be in short supply.

Daryl snorted; Carol had baked enough cookies for the entire community and then some. The woman who saved them from the Wolves surely deserved a share while she recovered!

As he got closer, Daryl tensed, hearing next to nothing behind the walls. The gate was intact. No damage pockmarked the wall. And yet an eerie feeling crawled up his spine. Step by step, he slowed his gait, sliding his crossbow from his shoulder as he did so. One sniff to the air revealed no trace of fire or fresh death. Daryl narrowed his eyes and crept closer, the empty guard tower enough to make him sweat.

Then, finally, "It's about time you showed up!"

Daryl jerked, scanning the area before spying Rosita peeking out from the gate curtain. Her loud mouth called three walkers out of the woods, but he was momentarily comforted by her presence. He hustled the last hundred feet, muscles stinging. "Open up!"

Rosita already had the gate cracked just enough for him to slide through. Along the wall, the closest walker raked a skeletal arm at him. He dodged with a clumsy spin, weaving his body through the thin opening.

The gate clanged shut. Rosita ended the walker with a precise strike.

Hands on his knees, Daryl filled his lungs with worn out breaths. From his hunched position, he surveyed the community, but found that the eerie feeling from before persisted. The streets were empty despite the high sun. The usual racket that came with a living community was absent; no garage doors opened, no creaky porch swings. Someone was always humming or banging hammers, but today he could hear the individual chirps of the sparrows.

Rosita sauntered over, arms crossed, and glared at him with a fierceness that burned like a personal attack. Daryl glanced at her and it was then he spotted Eugene standing pathetically in the background. The man barely bent his elbow in a wave.

Daryl huffed; he had been gone a whole week and they were just going gawk at him? No questions about Carol. Not even a polite 'Welcome back' or an offered water bottle. He scanned the streets again, any comfort brought on by returning cracking under what he could only call a _wrongness_.

The heavy snorts Rosita used for breath edged his exhaustion into irrational fury and her impatient toe tapping jack hammered his already frayed nerves. After the sting in his lungs subsided, Daryl straightened, took the bait, and growled, "What is it?"

Rosita launched into it, "You sure missed a lot. Abraham's fucking dead." She leaned closer, eyes blazing, and declared, "We're going to war."

Daryl staggered back from her barrage, adrenaline kicking in at the mention of war. Confused and defensive, he responded automatically, "What are ya talking about?"

"I do believe Rick is against war..." Eugene rebutted weakly.

Rosita laughed coldly. "We really don't have a choice."

Daryl stared blankly at the two of them bickering as cold dread curdled in his stomach. The small hints of dissent about Rick mixed with the news about Abraham had the gears in head grinding into a stabbing headache. Summoning the last of his reserved strength, he gathered his belongings and asked, "Where's Rick?"

"Crying in his house, probably."

"Daryl!"

He turned, unable to address Rosita's anger. At the sight of Glenn jogging down the steps of his house, Daryl pushed passed the raging woman and asked, "What the hell's goin' on, Glenn?"

Authority radiating off him, Glenn raised his arms with annoyance. "What are you guys doing? Get back on watch!"

Eugene flinched and then hobbled away at the command. Even his steps up the watchtower ladder lacked conviction. Rosita stalked back to the gate, gun back in her hands. She glared at the two of them in the street, leaving them with, "It's on you guys to get Rick moving. Or else I will take care of it myself!"

Glenn sighed and then pulled Daryl into a quick one-armed hug. "Did you find Carol? Is she alright?"

Daryl swallowed a large lump in his throat, pulse returning to normal. Carol was a subject he could focus on, and reporting his journey stabilized his shaking knees. "It's...a long story. She's...not...ready to come back."

Glenn's brow furrowed at Daryl's weak answer. "Well, I'm glad you're okay...and I'm glad Carol's...okay. You'll have to tell us about it later," he finished in hushed tones, a hand clasping Daryl's shoulder and setting a path to Rick's house.

Daryl nodded his gratitude and then pinched the bridge of his nose to control the rush of questions begging to be answered. Someone scurried from their porch into their front door. Curtains rustled. Although the actions were small, they stank of fear. He brushed off the remaining inquiry in Glenn's eyes and focused on the situation in front of him. "What happened here?"

The younger man ran a hand through his black hair with a heavy sigh. "We just got back ourselves..." Glenn trailed off at Daryl's frown and started over, "Okay, right. So, the day after you left, we had to take Maggie to the Hilltop's doctor."

"She alright?" Daryl interrupted.

"She's fine, baby's fine." Glenn's smile cut through the lines etched around his mouth. "We got her there in time. She needs rest, but, Maggie's strong."

Daryl sighed in relief. "Good."

Before continuing, Glenn paused under a tree, struggling with words. "We got trapped in the woods by Negan and his goons." He nodded a confirmation, "Yeah, Negan's really one guy, the leader of that group. Turns out we've been dealing with outposts the entire time...Negan killed Abraham with a baseball bat..." After the rush to get it all out, Glenn paled and trailed off.

Daryl swallowed and pressed, "Rick?"

"He's not the same." In a lower voice, Glenn added, "Negan took him away from us at one point. I don't know what happened exactly."

The news gave him whiplash. Of all the scenarios he expected to return to, the aftermath of a crushing defeat was far from his range of ideas. Rick, apparently humbled, a near impossibility. Daryl stalked down the sidewalk a few steps, hands on his hips. Fingers twitching, he lit a cigarette and took a long drag.

"We're in a lot of trouble," Glenn continued. "The Saviors, they promised to be here in a few days, to demand tribute." At Daryl's glare, the younger man held up a hand.

"Daryl?"

They both spun toward the porch. Rick hovered at his screen door, his voice nothing more than a whisper, his back hunched. There was a blankness in his eyes that Daryl couldn't recall, even after Lori died.

Daryl inwardly shuddered. "Rick? What...?"

"Come inside. It'll be better here." The screen door banged twice as he retreated back into the shadows.

* * *

Rick mumbled at the beginning, words more breath than voice, but Daryl eventually got the story from their leader. How Maggie had fallen ill and the group packed up the RV to take her to Hilltop for treatment. How that group, the Saviors, created roadblocks, corralling Rick and the others into using side roads that went progressively further and further out of the way. All the sneering taunts that put them on edge and then the trap in the woods. They had been herded in like animals for slaughter.

Eyes narrowed and with small prompting questions, Daryl tried to understand the broken man before him. Losing Abe was devastating, but they'd been rounded up before at Terminus and had escaped. They had been caught off guard before. Their overconfidence was obviously the downfall here, but Rick was hollowed out in a way Daryl had never witnessed before.

Was it the sheer numbers behind their enemy? _"Didn't stop Rick at Woodbury."_

The brutality of Abraham's murder? _"We've killed horribly..."_

Understanding eluded Daryl until Rick choked out the part about Negan insisting that Rick chop off Carl's arm.

"He had his bat at my head and thirty guns on Carl...Michonne...Glenn...Maggie. Everyone." Broken, Rick admitted, "I couldn't, but I had to." Rick went silent for a minute, eyes wide and far away. Daryl didn't dare move, afraid to startle his brother. Finally, in a small whisper, Rick finished, "Just as I raised the axe, Negan stopped me."

Horror and anger shook Daryl; it was more than retaliation, more than protecting his people. This Negan asshole _broke_ his enemies, was one of those men who knew how to pick at your weaknesses with one look over, taking away any of your defenses. Rick's broken spirit and Alexandria's ghost-like existence showcased how effective it was.

Daryl broke the dead silence that followed, voice garbled with fury, "What do we do now?"

"We give him what he wants," Rick sighed and shrugged. "That's how we live."

Glenn spoke for the first time in what felt like hours, "We have runs planned to gather supplies. Negan's coming any day now to collect."

Daryl fingered another cigarette. "Rick-"

As if anticipating the argument, Rick shook his head, "We're outnumbered, out gunned."

Daryl paced, fists tight at his sides. He had no way of knowing if his presence would have made a difference, but with Rick broken and the community was shaking at its core, he felt inadequate regardless. At the same time, he never regretted following Carol. That was the one bright clarity in this. Still, failure sat heavy on his shoulders and Daryl gritted his teeth.

As if suddenly waking up from a dream, Rick asked, "Did you find Carol?"

Startled out of his brooding, Daryl stammered, "I-I did. She's...alone. Didn't want to come back, didn't want me there," he trailed off, heart racing again anticipating Rick's reaction.

Absently, Rick ran a thumb along the side seam of his pants. Other hand over his mouth, he conceded, "Maybe it's better she's not here."

Shocked, Daryl agreed with him. Maybe she was safer out there, away from this impeding war. However, the possibility that he may not get back to her anytime soon already knotted a mess in his gut. _"It's better if she's away from this,"_ he told himself. _"She won't be forced to kill..."_

Topic dropped, Rick moved like an old man, drained and small, to the bookcase as if hoping to gain wisdom from the tomes there. A few light strokes along the spines and then he sighed again in defeat. "I'm glad you're back." It was the first time the man hadn't worn a frown all day.

Daryl dipped his chin and asked for his orders, "What do ya need me to do?"

"Rosita's going on a run tomorrow. Insisted she go alone, but I can't have that. You'll go with her?"

Daryl's lip curled, but he agreed. "Got it."

* * *

It was black as pitch by the time he left Rick's house. As he thumped down the porch steps, Daryl ran a hand over his face. Exhaustion tugged at his eyelids, weakness ate at his muscles, but it did nothing to slow the gears spinning in his head.

Whatever Rick thought, they were already at war, war with thinking, breathing, scheming humans. A group that sounded more organized than theirs, one that had more weapons and soldiers. They hadn't known it then, but the skirmishes over the last few weeks had been the opening shots.

Daryl reached the black pavement, still so smooth after years of little use, and halted. Rick and Glenn had told him that the Saviors were coming here, to pick up tribute. Daryl imagined the houses with their roofs collapsed, felt the heat of fire, and the sounds of screams; war always made its way home, this place wouldn't be safe for long. Especially if they were forced to invite the enemy in.

The screen door creaked shut behind him and a second later, Glenn was at his side.

"Is this really the best plan?" Daryl spun on the younger man, desperate for an affirmation from someone who was there but whose resolve hadn't been completely destroyed. He flipped back and forth between anger and frustration, rebellion and compliance.

Glenn pressed his lips together. The bags under his eyes told Daryl enough, but he insisted on getting a verbal proof.

"Right now, it is. You saw Rick. And everyone here? We just got them to slay walkers over the last few weeks." Glenn hung his head, "Getting them to fight these Saviors? There's no way."

Nerves rattling, Daryl dug out another cigarette. It did little to help. The two men occupied the glowing beam of a streetlight until Daryl finally stubbed out the cigarette under his toe.

"You should get some rest, man." With a weak smile, Glenn clapped him again on the shoulder, murmuring about checking in on Maggie, and disappeared into his house.

Daryl tapped an erratic rhythm on his thigh, nervous energy finding a way to escape. He looked back at the dark house, knowing the bedroom he had claimed would be silent and empty. Frustrated, he took off down the street, watching every shadow. Time and time again, Daryl replayed Rick's conversation in his head, never finding any hope or fight in any version. Halfway down the street, his thumbnails were already bleeding, the skin franticly ripped out.

When he reached the end, the cul-de-sac near where Carol had left, he doubled back, feet still itching to move. With a flick of his wrist, blood dripped to the ground and he began the path all over again until a voice called out to him.

Another barrage, Tobin and his sad eyes, strode over. Daryl nearly barked a laugh out at all the attention, the waves today a never ending tide.

"Carol? Did you find her?" Tobin bobbed around to glance over Daryl's shoulder as if he was hiding her. "Where is she?"

"I found her. She's fine," Daryl added before the man broke down. Suddenly, all his energy was sapped, and all Daryl wanted was a pillow under his head. But, a restful night was not meant to be his.

"Where is she then?" Tobin's eyes narrowed accusingly.

Reminded of the angry guilt Rosita had tried to toss at him earlier, Daryl snarled defensively, "She wanted to stay out there!"

"What's wrong with you? She can't be out there!"

Daryl bristled under the critique, fingernails deep in his palms. His knuckles tingled with the need to punch something. "Whatcha say?"

Shadows trailed across Tobin's face as he rose to the challenge, but then he half turned away. Frowning, he pressed a hand to the back of his neck, then slid it to his mouth. He breathed into it, eyes darting this way and that before glaring back at Daryl with a conclusion. "Look, there's a lot going on here. I'm sure Rick told you. I appreciate the fact that you went after her and found her, but Carol _can't_ be out there alone!"

"She can take care of herself." Daryl rose up, defying the pain in his back.

Tobin crossed his arms and huffed, his breath foggy in the chilly air. He then irrationally, demanded, "Tell me where she's is and I'll go get her."

"No."

"You can't keep her to yourself!"

After his shitty welcome this morning, Rick's timidity, and the news of war, this fight with Tobin was the last straw. Daryl stepped up on his toes, eyes boring into the man, "Ain't like that." His voice increased until it was a yell, his rage building with Tobin's ignorance. Tired of today and all its shit, he ranted, arms swinging, "Ya think I wouldn't be out there if she wanted me there? Ya think I left her out there cuz I _wanted_ to? If she wanted ta come home, she would have. Get the _fuck_ away from me."

Stunned, Tobin backed away before Daryl could shove him out of his way.

Voices rose up behind Daryl, some shouts, mostly whispers. Footsteps scuffled on the sidewalks in clusters. When Daryl finally stormed up the backdoor, he realized it was the loudest the town had been all day. Gossip got people talking, especially when it could distract them from the other horror in their lives.

He pounded up the staircase in haste, struggling to control his lungs. His neck and face were still burning when the bed caught his lurching body with a groan.

Tobin's accusation wasted no time coming back to him, _"You can't keep her to yourself!"_

Daryl burrowed into his sheets, a growl caught in the back of his throat.

He wasn't going to cheapen Carol's situation into some kind of territory dispute; the very thought made him turn green. This wasn't about him, it wasn't about Tobin. It was about her! Somewhere, deep within reason, Daryl knew Tobin, probably traumatized by the current events, lashed out with hurt. He and Carol had been close, after all, living together, spending all their free time on that damn porch swing. Everyone had seen it. It made sense that Tobin wanted to find her and was angry at the obstacle, Daryl, put in front of him.

The man was still ignorant.

Carol had left Tobin, but really, she had left all of them for her own health. She set her own parameters and Daryl intended on following them. One, he hadn't told Rick where she was. (Though, with war imminent, the conflict Daryl had feared with Rick had resolved itself.) Two, she had said nothing explicit about Tobin or any of the other Alexandrians. Daryl's only other instruction was to leave, but return to her when he could.

Daryl recalled Carol's sorry state at the cabin, her usual warmth replaced with fear and desperation. He pinched his eyes shut, his heart weak with the way she had embraced him, her flush against him for a precious, fleeting second and how he had greedily went back for another hug.

He stopped himself from further speculating about why she would allow him to visit and not others beyond the fact that it had been him that found her. He had tracked her down and unknowingly made himself her keeper. It was as simple as that. Regardless of Tobin, this Negan asshole, or the upcoming war, Daryl was going to fulfill that role.

Daryl rolled over, content with that conclusion.

However, he spent the rest of the night trying unsuccessfully to find a comfortable position, as the uncertainty of war and Carol's distance plagued him.

* * *

Daryl and Rosita set out early, the air frosty on their noses and ears. Even breaths through their nostrils did little to protect their lungs from the cold. The sun was barely more than a dim sphere in the sky, it's warmth failing to reach their clothed skin.

 _"Better ta leave early than risk dealing with Tobin or Rick,"_ Daryl shrugged and flexed his hands in the gloves he begrudgingly took from storage. Unbeknownst to him, he had avoided one difficulty only to walk into another one.

Rosita was a fierce combination of hatred and sass. She ignored the need to be quiet, her aggravated grunts increasing in volume with each walker kill.

Daryl tried to counteract her by treading even lighter, speaking less and less. He glanced in her direction just as she swung a machete through a sapling that was barely in her way. He understood her anger, having experienced it after all the entanglements with Dwight, but her rage was going to get them noticed, or worst, killed.

"Hey, shut up," he growled once. It silenced her for maybe twenty minutes.

Maybe Glenn and Rick were right, and for now, there was nothing else to do but to play by Negan's rules. But as Rosita kept excessively stomping her feet to wake up her frozen toes, Daryl suspected compliance wouldn't sit well forever. Not knowing what to expect had him biting his lip; hopefully he'd have a better idea once this first tribute was complete.

The further they traveled from Alexandria, the more his mind returned to Carol. It seemed impossible, but after everything he heard yesterday, the impact of this Negan on everyone, his desire to go back to her had only increased.

He frowned. Realistically, he couldn't leave anytime soon, not when Rick was at his weakest and Negan was due to arrive any day now. Daryl lifted his head momentarily, hoping that this delay allowed Carol to heal, so that when he did get a chance to go back, she'd be ready for him.

In a moment of weakness, he hoped, _"Maybe, she'll let me stay for awhile."_

"Will you say something?" Rosita snapped at him after busting open a lock on a shed door. When he just glared at her, she continued, "You know what? That shithead Dwight was looking for you. He was probably looking to finish the job." She strode up to him, finger jabbing. "We should be going after him, for Denise. Negan for Abraham. This is a waste of time."

Daryl stalked passed her and stepped over the doorframe, crossbow raised. He clicked on his flashlight, illuminating shelves overflowing with junk. "We need supplies."

"We need a war plan. Sucking up to this guy isn't going to do any good. I thought you were angry. Don't you want revenge for Denise?"

The shameful memory of his hangover and bloodlust came back and with it, Dwight's sneering face and the image of his own bolt through Denise's eye socket. Daryl shook the memories away. There was no way he forgave Dwight, but there was no way he'd let that asshole interfere with his decisions anymore. Not after it had almost cost him the search for Carol. Daryl growled low, "No."

"So. That's it? Are you going to give up and run away with your tail between your legs like Carol?"

At the mention of her name, Daryl went rigid. Rosita's words prickled the back of his neck and he knew the attack was coming before it left her mouth, could tell from the snarl on her lips, the twitch of her fists.

"Fuck Carol. If she wants to run away, let her. We don't need cowards."

His fists shook regardless. The rest of her words were drowned out by the blood raging in his ears. Even prepared for her barrage, Daryl had to bite out his own warning. "Say one. More. Word."

Rosita swallowed the rest of her barb. There was an apology somewhere in her flinch, but she wiped it away with an eye roll and pushed passed him into the dark room, muttering under her breath.

The rest of the run was consumed by stiff silence.

In the hunting shack, they found canned goods, but not more than a handful. The jangling cans in his bag felt like progress though. From a small mechanic's shop, they rolled out stacks of decent tires. There were too many for just the two of them, but they noted its location on the map for future use. If the motorcycle group and the trap left for the RV were anything to go by, the Saviors probably needed good tires.

When the sun finally deepened into the color of a dark egg yolk, they returned to Alexandria. Food, blankets, two tires, and a bag of batteries were their best finds. By old standards, it was a successful run. Daryl had a niggling feeling that it wouldn't be enough now, the food barely enough for five people. Rosita stomped off to her house, leaving him to stack the supplies in the storage rooms. Thoughts buzzed in his head like a thriving hive; Rick, Abraham's death, Rosita's reckless need to fight, and Carol.

Carol.

Alone.

He turned over a can of beets in his hand and then looked over his shoulder for anyone approaching. Gnawing the inside of his cheek, he bagged it and two others, overriding his guilt by justifying, _"Carol's got no access to a pantry."_

The rest of the cans he organized on the shelves and noted them in Olivia's notebook. As if he needed a reminder of the change in season, a few snowflakes blew in the open garage on a stray wind. _"Gotta bring her some meat...matches too."_

Distracted, he didn't hear the approaching vehicles. Dozens of tires rumbled down the road until the halted just outside the gate.

It was Father Gabriel call out from the tower that got Daryl's attention. At the priest's yell, Daryl rushed out of the garage, clicking the button to shut the door, just as the rest of the community was beginning to empty their homes.

Large shadows appeared outside the gate, the roaring engines like prowling predators. Combined with the thunder of boots hitting pavement, Daryl lost count of how many doors slammed.

He caught Rick's eyes as his brother approached with Carl and Michonne; they were glazed and fearful.

Before Daryl had a chance to stand with them, the gate clanged, the vibrating metal sound piercing the air.

Everyone held their breaths.

And then the metal clanged again.

"Little pig, little pig, let me IN!"

* * *

Sorry for the delay! Finally got a chance to finish this chapter and it turned into a doozy! I have a lot of feelings about how Season 7 is going and hope to channel them into finishing this thing quickly.

Fair warning, the rating will probably change next chapter to M.

Anyway, thanks for reading!

Reviews make my day! Please let me know what you think!-randomcat23


	7. War Looms

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Walking Dead.

Please note the rating change.

* * *

Alexandria's gate protested Rick's pushing shoulder. Foot by foot it creaked and squealed like a animal dragged to slaughter. But in the end, it gave in with a final, submissive groan. On the other side, a man in a leather jacket waited with a grin that belonged to the devil.

"Evening, Rick!"

A twitch passed between Daryl's shoulders; Negan instantly remained him of his father. Both were men that hid terror behind their smiles. That jovial mask would fall the second one bit of whine or protest was emitted and, judging from the army of trucks and people outside with loaded guns, Daryl suspected any punishment to be immediate and deadly.

 _"No second chances with this asshole."_

Rick murmured a response. Or, Daryl guessed his brother answered Negan. The intruder tilted his head back as if he just heard a good joke and then leaned to whisper something in Rick's ear.

Tension coiled through Daryl's arms and legs, readying a charge to Rick's side if necessary. However, Negan merely toyed with Rick, rather than threatening him openly. The casual greeting, the friendly tone of voice. In any other circumstance, a handshake would not have seemed out of place. Determining that Rick wasn't in any danger at this moment, Daryl held his position and surveyed the rest of Alexandria.

Aaron, pale, clung to Eric, both men subtly shielding the other. Eric wore the closest thing to an open scowl Daryl had ever seen on the red-head. Glenn had placed himself a half-step in front of Maggie, but the couple's poses were the same; tight mouths, pinched shoulders, and white knuckles on clasped hands. Eugene blubbered into his hands between Sasha and Rosita. Both women titled their chins defiantly, tiny puffs of air snorting from their nostrils. Michonne and Carl joined them as the only members in the neighborhood who dared to meet Negan's gaze with fire in their eyes.

 _"Abraham's death made 'em mad more than scared."_ Assessing, Daryl crossed his arms and glanced back at Rick's subdued form. He wondered yet again how Rosita ever thought they were going to go to war.

Finally, Negan let go of Rick and crossed the threshold.

"I'm Negan," he greeted the crowd with a wave of that infamous baseball bat as his goons began filing in behind him. "Rick probably told you all about me. Well. HERE. I. AM!"

Over his shoulder, the Saviors devoured their houses with hungry eyes. Some grinned madly, clearly enjoying the display of power. Others blew into their gloved hands, disinterested, these raids nothing more than business. Regardless, they held their weapons with the deadly care of soldiers and, after the quick assessment, they all looked back to Negan.

"Now, everyone gather around! This is real fucking simple. We are going to go through your lov-ley houses and take whatever we fucking want. Any questions?"

Alexandria was a graveyard. Daryl was fairly confident that no one in the Alexandria crowd noticed how their homes were being evaluated; in the last few minutes all the present Alexandrians had curled in tightly together and eyeballed the man swaggering past their leader with the weapon used to kill Abraham.

"No? Alright!"

At the smallest jerk of his head, Negan's men filed out efficiently, pairing off to each of the houses. The mass of men and woman entering was a never ending swarm of grey and black, the low sun glinting off the sides of their guns.

Daryl growled low in the back of his throat. He had lost count of the invaders, though they surely outnumbered Alexandria by dozens. Only when the first door cracked under a kick did a woman try to rush back to her house. The remaining stony faced Saviors surrounded the Alexandrians, one throwing out a stiff arm to halt the fleeing woman. Someone burst into tears, to which Negan chided, but not before throwing a hand around Rick's shoulder.

"No need to cry. This is just the deal. Especially after we cleared all those walkers for you on our way here!"

Negan maneuvered Rick to the edge of the inner circle. Defeat had aged Rick's face into that of an old man, haggard and deeply lined. Daryl shifted to get a better line on the two of them, fingers tight on his crossbow strap. Given the numbers and positioning, it was nothing short of foolish to attack now.

 _"But if Negan goes at Rick-"_

From behind Negan's shoulder, Dwight found Daryl and smirked. Daryl's cool observational state dissolved. Anger prickled across his skin. By the time his firm mouth twisted into a frown, all other concerns disappeared. His eyes blazed.

 _"That fucker."_

Another window shattered. Something was thrown into the street. Gasps went up into the air, but Daryl refused to look away from the man sauntering in his direction. He pushed through the throng, haunted by Denise's bloody murder.

 _"I'll kill 'im."_

"Long time no see, Daryl," Dwight greeted, voice light with a taunt.

They circled each other slowly, hate curling Daryl's lip, cockiness infused in Dwight's.

"How about you hand over that crossbow?"

"No."

Ignoring the response, Dwight offered a palm and smirked. "Come on. Hand it over, Daryl." Dwight added an extra syllable to his name and rolled his eyes. "After all, it must be weird wielding the weapon that killed your friend."

Daryl's resolve cracked, shame and pain a blinding combination. The voice that told him to be still was silenced by the swelling rage calling for revenge.

Daryl unleashed a howl and threw a fist. Dwight's smirk fell just as Daryl posed to strike, but could not find the time to duck. Daryl grunted at the satisfying sound of Dwight's painful yelp and the feeling of his knuckles splitting.

 _"Gonna knife his heart out."_

 _"Gonna shoot him in the head."_

 _"Gonna fuckin' kill him."_

Daryl towered over a cursing Dwight, taking in the man's moans with pride. A small trickle of blood dripped down Dwight's chin.

 _"Not enough! Fucker killed Denise. Tried to kill_ me _!"_

Daryl's second attack was cut off as two men with shoulders wide as a bear's yanked him back from Dwight. The interruption broke through the rage clouding his vision, jerking Daryl upright, his shoulders heaving.

"Holy fuck! That is _not_ how we do things!"

Across the circle, Negan whistled, his head displaying his disappointment in wide turns. Rick followed as if tied to a leash. Negan rebuked him, "You gotta get your people on board, Rick! And Dwight, fuck, man. I said we were here for the house supplies."

"This is the guy I told you about." Dwight rose to his knee, spat, and then straightened completely. The pleased sneer on his face screamed _Gotcha!_

The grip on Daryl's arms tightened into a vice. Daryl stiffened into a defensive stance and cursed himself silently, _"Fuckin' idiot. Can't even follow your own advice."_

" _This_ guy here?" Negan yelled. He dropped the swinging bat to his side and a wide, almost impressed grin, stretched his face. "Dwight tells me you, sir, have been a pain in the ass!"

In the background Glenn shook his head, eyes like discs. Maggie cupped a hand over her mouth. Nobody else dared to move. The bitter wind ceased, leaving the circle in a vacuum-like state, all drawn to the center of gravity, Negan. Daryl fumbled for his crossbow strap and after looking at Rick and then Dwight through his shaggy bangs, met Negan's hungry stare. The two thugs released Daryl with a small push forward.

"Ah, the strong silent type," Negan assessed with an overdramatic nod. "Well, you _look_ like a badass."

The bat swing zipped up from Negan's hip and down like a meteor. Wind rushed by Daryl's ear. His stomach dropped. Screams pierce the night sky. Daryl shot up an arm in a late instinctive flinch.

The barbed wire tickled the fringe on his forehead and then his temple. Then his cheek.

Negan ran his tongue over his teeth, something dark twisting in his eyes. At the slightest twist of the bat, blood began to leak just under Daryl's cheekbone. Then, Negan's leather jacket emitted a smooth sound as he dropped his arm just as fast as he had raised it.

Daryl rooted himself to the ground, heart beating like a jackhammer, his gut a cesspool of fear.

"But if you're such a badass I can't help but wonder why Rick didn't have you at the grand event the other night. Would have thought Rick traveled with his A Team." He tossed a snarky glance at Dwight and then Rick, only to then lean back toward Daryl. "Well, where were you?"

Negan poked Daryl's shin with the bat.

"Stashing weapons?"

A jab to Daryl's left arm.

"Jerking off?"

Negan tapped Daryl's hip and waggled his eyebrows.

This viper of a man threatened each inch of Daryl's body, every point of contact searing. It was a maddening process, dragging mere seconds into agonizing hours. Each touch threatened to be the last.

But Daryl stopped registering the prods and pokes after Negan dragged a path down his chest. The circle of Saviors faded away. Negan's laugh and taunts muted. Daryl no longer saw Rick's terrified face or the sneers from Dwight.

Instead, he envisioned a cabin tucked high above a creek. The leaves on the surrounding trees were green with new growth. From the porch, Carol glanced over her shoulder and raised a hand in greeting. Her blue eyes sparkled. She welcomed him with open arms. And when she pulled back, head tilted slightly, her nose wrinkled mid-laugh. He drew her back in, awed by her. And then, softly, he pressed his mouth to hers.

Abruptly, the fantasy faded as Daryl felt Negan's bat at his temple, his hair tangled around the wire. With a calm sigh, Daryl glared at Negan and waited.

 _"May never see her again."_

He'd never catch her chuckling over a bad joke from Carl. No more shared cigarettes or last minute runs. He'd never see her take down a walker, her grace and expertise enough to stop his heart. He'd never get the chance to hold her again, or finally know how her lips would fit against his. The dream of her sighing his name, tucked against his side would remain that, a fantasy.

 _"But, she ain't here. She's safe in her cabin. Negan can't touch her."_

They were small truths, but powerfully soothing. Time sped back up. Sweat still soaked through his shirt. Muscle spasms erupted under each touch of the bat. But, Daryl swallowed a hard lump in his throat and managed to keep a straight face until, finally, Negan ran out of guesses.

Negan smacked his lips impatiently, swinging the bat now with the carelessness of a drunk driver. Wide, lazy arcs that narrowed and narrowed around Daryl's head. "Rick, _where_ the _fuck_ was this guy?"

Rick's shoulder collapsed into an upside-down parabola. "Looking for someone."

"How fucking heroic!" Negan playfully punched Daryl's shoulder. "Did you find them?"

"No," Daryl growled, blood thrumming between his ears. Again he watched Negan shift his grip on the bat, feet frozen in place. _"She's safe."_

"Rick?"

Rick croaked, "...she couldn't be found."

"Oh, a lady then? Couldn't get your cock wet?"

Daryl flashed white and then red. His jaw tightened like a vice and his fingernails were nails into his palms.

With a showy frown, Negan continued, "Fuck are you frustrated! Rick, how come you haven't hooked your buddy up here with a gal?"

Rick blanched as white and stiff as marble.

Negan had a good laugh at the two men and then raised one eyebrow, lowered it and then repeated the pondering motion with the other. "It's a damn shame." With a huff and a wave of his weapon, he concluded, "Well, take his stuff."

Reflexively, Daryl dodged out of the way of the first goon, who had announced his presence with a hoot. Daryl watched as the man face-planted into the ground in a slow arch. A cackle came from behind his left shoulder and was followed with a yank on Daryl's crossbow. Daryl's moved to drop his crossbow and jab the thief for the offense. His shoulder muscles stretched painfully.

Rick yelled something indiscernible.

Daryl didn't see the first punch, which struck his left eye socket, or the second, which came from behind. It sent him crashing to his knees. The third punch had him kissing the concrete. His kneecaps screamed and collapsed. His tongue slicked over with blood.

Negan's confident voice came through the thumping of fists on his flesh, "Rick, did you _not_ tell your people how this works? Yikes! What _I_ say goes!"

Daryl's ears rang and he coughed on blood. While struggling to keep the world steady, he felt the slide of his crossbow strap up his limp arm and he latched onto it. His attacker cussed. Daryl kicked wildly, connecting soundly with an ankle or a shin. Any progress was then lost with a brutal boot to his ribs and another lightning-like strike to his lumbar.

"Dwight, you sure picked a lame ass. Look, I got him broken in five minutes flat!"

Breaths knifed Daryl's lungs and stung his throat. Bits of gravel dug into his forearms, shallow, but painful jabs. He tried to lift himself but slumped to the pavement. Stars danced in his eyes. Behind closed eyelids, he was mildly aware that more windows were smashed and gasps filled the air. Or was that his own damaged mind and a weak lung making the racket? Footsteps pounded, some coming, other's going, all smashed his ear drums.

After a few minutes or several hours peeling tires echoed into the night. With one ear still facing the sky, Daryl struggled to determine what sounds were coming from where. His vision swirled back into focus just as a pair of boots approached. Someone hefted him under his armpits and his weak defensive gestures did nothing to stop their administrating.

Just as he craned his neck, his vision went black and he crumpled to the ground.

* * *

Daryl crawled out of sleep like someone escaping the trap of quicksand. There were a few instances where he stirred to the murmur of voices and the soft padding of feet but when he tried to make sense of the noises, he was dragged back into slumber. Eventually, he gained the strength to overcome the sleepy grasp on his eyelids. Blinking and yawning, shapes formed and sharpened. Then, after rubbing grit his eyelids, the room filled out in color.

Maggie smiled at his side with a glass of water.

"What time is it?" He croaked. Over the lip of the cup, he squinted at the muted light coming through the blinds. The bed underneath him was too clean and tidy to be his. He caught a trace of lavender and vanilla in the air. Upon further inspection of the book shelves and their medical tomes, he placed himself in Denise's house.

"Mid afternoon. You slept all night." Maggie tested his heart rate and fixed a bandage on his head.

Daryl withheld an instinctual flinch. With each of her gentle prods, Daryl cross checked his memory of the previous night; the punch to his face, the kicks to his ribs. When all his throbbing internal pains were accounted for and Maggie had dropped her hand, he touched his cheek, reliving the press of grit against the skin. The tacky skin shredded from the street abrasion had not yet scabbed.

He fisted the sheets as anger overtook pain. The sound of shattering glass and screams came back to Daryl clearly. Dwight's sneer was joined by Negan's stroll and the wood grain of the baseball bat. Daryl's side throbbed again.

 _"Coulda died,"_ he noted soberly and then he whipped his attention to Maggie, as if seeing her for the first time. "Are ya alright?"

She set down her notebook on the table next to her chair in a practiced motion. "I'm fine."

"The others?" His voice cracked.

Maggie's shoulders drooped only slightly before she corrected herself. "We had to board up a few windows, but everyone is alive." With narrowed eyes, she continued, "You lost a tooth. Couldn't do anything about it."

Daryl's tongue quickly found a gap on his left side and the metallic flare of blood. A sip of water washed away the taste. "What happened?" He rasped.

"They took what they wanted. Food. Weapons. Most of our mattresses."

Daryl tore at his lip, turning the events this way and that. "What did Rick say?"

"Nothing. He's on a run right now for the next tribute."

The gravity of the situation filled in the room like an unwanted visitor. Maggie and Daryl sat in silence, eyes shifting to the dusty corners as if trying to catch movement. Everything Alexandria had worked toward was gone in a matter of hours. The walls stood, but their security was breeched. They were still breathing, but their lives were upended. The ultimate knife to their hearts was Rick letting it all happen without so much as a word of disapproval.

Daryl crunched his water cup. _"It could have been worse, ya fuckin' idiot. Ya lucky it's your busted ass on this bed and not someone else."_

"We have to fight," Maggie said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, as if she hadn't seen Rick collapse. "We can't live like this. I already have plans for involving Hilltop." She rose and paced the room in a jagged path, fingers to her lips.

"Rick ain't ready to fight," Daryl said.

"He'll come around...he must." She tried unsuccessfully to hide a wince by turning sharply. "I only hope he gets it together before we lose too much. In the mean time, we all have our roles to play. We still have to fulfill tribute and keep this place running."

Daryl turned away from her pointed look to focus on the books lining the walls. He'd be expected to hunt and collect food for this tribute as well as find sustenance for Alexandria. His anger spiked at the thought of dropping a hard fought-for deer at the Negan's feet. But, he'd grit his teeth if that was what needed done. He'd wander miles over the cold ground if that's what it took to find weapons or bargaining chips.

Anything to buy Rick time and feed his family.

But he needed to get back to Carol. The sooner Daryl fulfilled his duty here, the sooner he could reach her cabin. That fact washed away some of the throbbing in his side.

 _"No time to waste. Already lost a day."_ Daryl threw back the sheets, clenching his jaw to stop his grimace. Pain blinded him but he pushed through it to swing his legs to the floor.

"Daryl. Stop." Maggie pressed gently on his upper arm. "You're in no condition to leave."

He shrugged off her hand. "Gotta go hunt so I can get back to Carol," Daryl stated, dipping his chin slightly, but never dropping Maggie's expectant gaze. "Can't leave her out there."

Maggie folded her hands over her notebook, brow knit in thought. She then grinned slightly. "Please. Give yourself a few days. Then go to Carol."

He stared at her blankly. "We need food. And I can't hunt in bed."

"No." She paused, warmth lightening her eyes, "but you can recover and teach me and Glenn how to set traps."

Daryl snorted. "What are ya talkin' about?"

She tapped the notebook lightly. "Your role is to bring Carol back. That's what you'll do. We need food, but you can't do enough hunting by yourself anyway. So teach me. Teach Glenn and the others."

His heart beat faster as he pieced together her plan. Traps were way less effective sometimes. They'd never catch deer that way. It simply wasn't as efficient. And, although having Maggie's support somehow made leaving them easier, it was so unexpected.

Daryl narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

Her mouth flicked downward before she composed herself. "When Carol and I were captured, I think she tried to tell me something was bothering her..." Maggie sighed. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. "I told her not to think about it. We just had to get out...But then she was just gone and I-"

"It ain't your fault," assured her, remembering the blank look Carol sported after the kidnapping.

"It's on all of us," she asserted.

Daryl eased his body back into the bed, conceding agreement. Both their faces sagged a bit with responsibility.

All those times Carol smoked on the porch. All the cookies she baked and handed out with fake smiles. They had all known it was a farce initially put on to help protect them, but then it never faded. As Alexandria grew into a home, no one bothered to ask why Carol was still pretending to be a homemaker.

Maybe if they had just bothered to ask, rather than accept, maybe if they had pushed a little harder, Carol would be here with them, trying to fight for their livelihood instead of living out in isolation.

"You'll be the one to bring her back," Maggie declared.

Daryl glanced up from the sheets. "Gonna try."

"Give yourself a few days." She touched his arm briefly. "Heal up." She wiggled the notebook in front of him. "Tell me how to set traps. What plants to look for. We'll take care of it. You take care of Carol."

* * *

Three days later, Daryl glared at Alexandria's food supplies. The pantry shelves were empty like all the times his father blew the paycheck at the poker tables and on shots of whiskey. His old man would come home, pockets jangling with the remnants of their food money and rank breath, and smile as if that was an appropriate apology. Except this was worse, because it was their own hard work and alliances forged that got this food here and Alexandria was literally throwing it at the feet of a tyrant.

The sparse wire rack cast stripes of shadows on the tiled floor. There was a single line of cans, a few slumped boxes of pasta. Bags of red and black beans with the top half folded over stood in the back. Daryl's scabbed hand shook as he picked up a remaining can. The shelf rattled at the light touch with nothing hold it down.

 _"We got close ta fifty people to feed with this."_

By comparison, the pile on the floor overflowed with food goods and medical supplies, untouchable. It taunted Daryl from the corner of his eye. Beets. Carrots. Potatoes. Jars and jars of peaches and tomatoes. Spam. Packets of dried meat. Boxes of granola bars. A few squashes, still sporting dirty smudges from the garden. It was enough food to keep Alexandria fed for a month at least, but they could not touch it.

 _"There's still deer and rabbit in the freezer,"_ he consoled himself. The white chest hummed and sighed when he opened the lid for second reassurances. Daryl squinted over cold box, calculating how long the meat would last. No matter how many ways he reworked the numbers, it was never enough for an entire winter. Worst case, it was less than a month. Glenn and Maggie would have to be extremely productive with their snares to cover the gap. With a growl, he slammed the lid shut. Regret hit him immediately as pain and stiffness erupted through his shoulder and down his side.

Olivia rounded the corner, clipboard snug against her chest. "I'm sorry, I can only get you four cans. Two for you, two...for Carol." She placed the meager supplies into his open bag, smiling nervously.

He dropped his eyes to his bag and attempted to quell his shaking. Next to the bandages and handful of air-activated hand warmers, the tin cans looked more like a picnic's worth than insurance for survival. The cans he had picked out for Carol the other day laid in the pile for Negan.

 _"Fuck Negan."_

With a gruff "Thanks," Daryl ripped his gaze away from the tribute pile before he could chew a hole in his cheek. He shouldered his bag and strode out of the garage and into a late fall snow flurry.

Around him, hammers banged nails into plywood. Grim faces nodded. There was a large pile of supplies by the gate. Wood. Tires. Furniture. Someone added a box to the tribute with sagging shoulders, but stood up again with determination.

War was coming.

Sooner or later.

Purpose propelled Daryl through the pains that throbbed with each step.

 _"We'll be back for the fight. Me an' Carol."_ That thought drew a small smirk from him. It invigorated him and he increased his pace. _" And then Negan'll get what's comin' to him."_

As he exited Alexandria the snow fell harder, coating the smallest plants. But, with thoughts of Carol running through his head, he kept warm well into the night.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I'm well into the next chapter, so the next update should come soon! Feedback is greatly appreciated!-randomcat23


	8. Ghosts

**Disclaimer:** Nope, not mine! Just borrowing them for a bit.

* * *

A bitter wind blew in from the mountains the day Daryl left. Its tails carried whispers of snow. Dead plants shuddered in its wake and even the mightiest trees emitted mournful creaks as the gusts buffeted their trunks. It was the kind of wind that pierced skin and ushered people indoors. It would draw the water from eyes and then freeze the drops to frostbitten cheeks.

As the world outside whimpered under the wind's whips, Carol's feet itched and were not satisfied by pacing the floor. The feeling differed from what drove her to plan and leave and trek here. This itch told her to get out of the cabin.

She narrowed her eyes at the shaking branches outside as her foot rapped against the floorboards.

 _Go._

 _It's okay._

 _You can come back here._

In spite of the external deterrent, Carol bundled up and shot out the door, set on familiarizing herself with the environment and its resources. Still sore from running away, her muscles burned with the brisk movement. She pressed on, memorizing where pebbles gathered around shallow curves in the creek and where exposed rock deposits created small, chatty waterfalls. The wind nipped her skin through her heavy coat and pants, icy prickles finding their way through the threads.

She opened her ears to the woods, noting the difference between her footsteps and the scurrying squirrels rushing to prepare for winter. The dry cattails, tall in the patchy wetlands, rocked against another in a gust of wind and then fell silent. She located ancient, hollowed out stumps coated in white and shockingly orange fungus. After flipping through her identification book and determining they were edible she bent to harvest the mushrooms.

Fingers hovering above the closest one, she thought, _"Carl should learn how to drive."_

She stiffened, shifted her eyes back and forth, expecting someone to appear, because surely that couldn't be her own thought. When was the last time she considered something so mundane? Carol held her breath for a time, expecting the wash of guilt and the damning numbness. Instead, her mind remained a blank slate.

Cautiously inching her hand over the fungus, she paused after each movement to see if self-damnation would resurface. Nothing happened except the wind chilled the sweat on her brow. She snatched the mushrooms in a rapid swipe and dashed away from the spot as if it was cursed.

It happened again when she was collecting wood the next day, _"I wonder if Maggie's picked a name for the baby yet."_

And again when she set a new snare one morning. " _Tara and Heath should return soon, hopefully with good supplies."_

With each musing, she flinched, waiting for them to bloom into terror, but they remained just what they were: ponderings and concerns about her family. No follow up jabs about leaving them alone, or terrifying visions of them laying dead in the streets of Alexandria.

 _"Why the fuck am I thinking all of this now?"_

Finally the answer came to her while trailing her hands over the wall Daryl constructed. The feeling of damp rocks and mismatch barrels under her fingers loosened something around her heart. It was inevitable that after each pass, she'd raise her head and squint over the creek at the peeling birches and into the scraggly bushes where he had disappeared under her order.

 _"I do want to get back to them. I do."_

The simple conclusion hung in the air like it had been there all along and the wind slowed, as if to say, _Yes, of course you do._

A different itch grew in her chest and her shoulders pinched together to hold it in.

In the blurry edges of her eyesight, her ghosts cocked their heads, and waited to be recognized.

* * *

Under the cover of night, Carol lit a fire and flexed her chilled hands over the flames. The dancing red and orange flares were a welcome change to the impenetrable sheet of gray stretched across the sky all day.

The list of her kills glared at her from the notebook on the floor, the pages smudged and worn. Her skin prickled as if about to be pierced by a needle and her stomach twisted like it did before she told Ed she had miscarried again. Instinct kicked in and told her to bury these dangerous thoughts, to stash away the pain.

But, with another look at her list, Carol pried open her heart with a hiss. _"Where did it all go wrong?"_

She exhaled raggedly and thought back to the beginning, back to the source of her need to flee.

The prison.

 _"I steeled myself and did what needed done."_

Killing Karen and David was a messy, horrible act, but it she had carried it out in the name of love. Love for those suffering and for those who would suffer if they caught the disease. While the rest of the council wavered about what to do, Carol had gathered up that burden and acted on her decision.

 _"Killing is necessary to live. I accepted that."_

But no level of acceptance prepared her for exile. Banished, rejected for doing the very thing necessary in this world, gutted her.

Her family was stripped from her, a brutal punishment for acting out of love.

Never again would she swap ideas and musings with Michonne, their hands busy shucking corn. She was not allowed to watch Carl with pride as he evolved into a capable young man. Those starry nights on watch with Daryl, possibilities sparking between them, faded into memories.

The trust between her and Rick was apparently thinner than she had thought.

Her contributions weren't enough.

Her love for them wasn't enough.

Weakened by Rick's choice and stripped of familial support, the burden she carried began to crush her spine. With them she may have been able to work through the pain of killing, but without them, the pain whittled away at her while she cried in that dusty station wagon.

That was when regret took root.

Still, she had picked her broken heart up and rushed back to her family at the first sign of danger. Because she loved them.

And Carol continued to love and love until the events in the pecan grove unleashed a barrage, shooting her full of holes and then her husk could hold nothing good.

 _"You have to kill in this world."_

Bombing Terminus bought her back Rick's good graces, but it was still murder, the exact act she'd been exiled for. Nothing felt _right_ , even after reunions and embraces.

Death was the one constant.

There would always be one more.

Then two more.

And another.

Then another.

Because if you love, and she loved fiercely, then you must kill.

 _"So now what?"_ Carol bit her lip and brushed away the tears pooling in her eyes. _"How do I move forward? How can I get the strength to kill again for my family?"_

Her mouth pressed into a firm line as her eyes bore into the fireplace, pleading for the resolution. Log after log, the fire rose and died, until her pile was depleted. No matter how many times she rekindled the flames, the crackling logs offered no answers.

* * *

 _Karen and David waved at her, looking much like they did before the illness swept over the prison. Grey walls shot up around them, comforting cinder block and iron gates. Karen grinning with her hands on her hips. David blushing after a compliment to his weapon crafting skills._

 _There's flashes of pain, bloodied eyes, the gag-inducing smell of the sick. Karen's bright smile melts into a bloody mess and ashy pale washes over David. They both let out hopeless, wet gasps from flooded lungs and raw throats, grasping toward Carol._

 _Carol ran to them and again, with unexpected ease, she killed them, her tears falling like rain. Their necks snapped back with the strikes. Burden completed, Carol furiously scrubbed at her soiled skin, flaked away the blood, but her skin underneath was black._

 _Permanently stained._

 _Karen and David righted themselves, killer blows leaking blood. Their hollowed eyes blinked once at her, all struggling gone from their brows. Then, with bittersweet smiles, flecks of their skin peeled off like shimmering bits of mica and they both faded away into a rising, blinding light._

Carol thrust out a heavy gasp as she swung upward, instantly awake. Her shoulders rose and fell in a rapid pumping motion. Instinct and months of practice told her to shove the lingering images away, to package them up and pretend they did not exist.

 _"That's what I've done. And look where it's got me."_ Carol grit her teeth and latched on to the bubbling pain.

It was a trickled release at first. Saturated lashes let go of overflowing tears. Carol wiped the first wave from her cheeks and then curled into a sob. Flashes of the lives she took filled her vision and instead of thrusting them away as just necessities, Carol let the pain ripple out from her heart and through her entire being.

 _"It's okay."_

Karen and her budding romance with Tyreese, ended before it got its chance to fly.

David, striking down walkers at the fence, keeping the community safe.

 _"You made that decision."_

The shrieking lady on the floor at Terminus, candle light shining on her pooling blood.

The Wolf and his comrades butchering defenseless Alexandrian's in the street.

 _"And those ones."_

The Savior woman who threatened Maggie, who reflected too much of Carol's fear back into her.

 _"Out of love."_

Months of guilt crumbled down off her back.

On the dusty cabin floor, Carol folded her hands on her chest and sobbed, each cry a painful, jolting discharge. Again and again her heart clenched and released, expelling long withheld darkness. She howled and whimpered in a seemingly never ending cycle.

The fire slowly died. After the logs emitted their last pop, all that was left were her wet sniffles.

The emergency blanket crinkled loudly when Carol tucked it under her ankles and her lower back. She continued to toil through her long train of thoughts, tears dampening her bedroll in the process. The wind kicked up and the night grew colder. As she forced herself to consider her kills over and over again, chill crawled up her socks.

Her toes numbed.

The small of her back refused to warm away goose pimples.

 _"Eighteen lives."_

Her teeth chattered. Carol tossed and turned, but gathered no heat. Huffing, Carol rolled over and flung out a hand.

Something soft caught it.

Brow furrowed, needy fingers clutched the object. She hiccupped once, recognition scattering the damp cloud in her head; it was the flannel Daryl had left for her. After wiping away her newest tears, Carol wrapped the extra layer around her and sighed into the collar.

Her thumb slipped through a hole in the sleeve. From the breast pocket she dug out a cigarette. She sunk her nose into the soft shirt, finding lingering scents of him in between the threads. Slowly, the added layer together with her blanket and coat trapped enough heat to force the numbness out of her hands.

With a final shudder, she pulled her knees to her chest and stilled, exhausted, but calm.

After flipping the cigarette through her fingers, Carol struck a match and lit it, inhaling only once.

* * *

The morning dawned with a weak sun.

Carol slipped on her socks and laced up her boots, taking time to weave the shoelace through each hole. There was a solidness when she lifted each boot, like she had been reconnected to the earth again. Carol flopped her legs over the porch edge and watched the sun paint wide, pale brush marks up the sky.

 _"It's something,"_ she acknowledged.

After her emotional night, her eyelids were still damp and tacky. While the stone in her stomach remained, the darkness inside her had faded a bit. She rolled her shoulders, testing out their new lightness.

 _"It's a start."_

Picking up her routine, she bundled up, this time buttoning the flannel up under her coat, and trekked down the creek.

Following Daryl's directions, she found the hillside dump he had described. Years and years of dumping added depth to the steep valley. She edged her way down the hill, crunching glass and grinding metal with each step.

Carol picked up pieces of shattered plastic and cast them aside, aimless. It wasn't hard to find potentially useful items. Slightly dented pots, a roll of barbed wire. There was plenty of random and worthless material too. Buried beneath shards of glass, bloated trash bags and busted plates made up a significant portion of the trash. She stepped over more than one toilet bowl, a few dozen mattress frames, and a smattering of other garbage.

Ankle deep in someone else's discarded past, Carol paused, hands on her hips. Plastic bottles popped as she shifted, scouring the mass of trash, waiting for some justification for this journey to catch her eye. After a frustrated huff, she remembered the possibility of walkers getting stuck in the creek muck. Carol then waded through the hillside looking for a long pole.

The twisted lead pipes were too heavy. PVC pipe could work, but all the pieces she found were cracked or too short. Finally, after some digging, Carol found an old metal fence post. She sized it up against herself and tested the sharpness of the ends. Satisfied with the small victory, she slung it over her shoulder and hiked back toward her cabin to test out the weapon.

Now the sun streaked through the tress like a kaleidoscope, green, white, and yellow shimmering spots. Carol embraced the warmth on her shoulders like a lost lover. Old deer trails wound through the tress and she trusted them enough to follow the worn ground. When they wandered from the creek, she forged her own path, breaking dry branches, pushing down dead arms of thorn bushes.

She kept thinking of tasks to do, twitching as if someone had whispered into her ear.

She rolled her eyes at herself; after the healing cry last night, her impatience had returned. It was a good sign, but she was hesitant to push too hard Carol firmly reminded herself, _"You don't have to do anything. You are doing something. Thinking about your kills by name is proof enough."_

Up ahead, a walker splashed in the creek. She ducked into a thicket and peered at her prey. The creek drifted up to its knees. Stuck in the muck, it did a weird jerky dance in its attempt to escape. It's upper body lurched, causing its billowy shirt to twirl in the water. The creature's thin, struggling arms clawed at the surface of the water.

Satisfied with its positioning, Carol rose and prepared an attack from the higher ground.

At her shuffling, the walker turned its dirty blonde head.

Carol missed her strike, mouth gaping.

"Lizzie-"

The dead little girl stared back at her through those rotten eyes, her once smooth skin pocked and pitted. A worm broke through one cheek, wiggling nauseatingly. With a wet pop, one of its teeth fell to the ground.

Carol dropped her pole.

 _"You killed me."_

Her knees buckled.

In a rush, the ground beneath her gave way and slumped into the creek. Carol threw up her arms, flailing for purchase on the edge. Dirt clogs crumpled with her clawing and splashed into the creek. Icy water rushed over skin.

 _"You killed me."_

"She shook her head to clear the girl's voice. A ghastly growl rose up with the sloshing water in her ears. Through wet eyes, Carol aimed a kick at the walker and nudged it in the leg. The snarling walker struggled as Carol raised her knife.

Refocusing her eyes, she yelled, "It's not her!"

But blood dripped from the bullet exit wound in its head.

Blue orbs glared accusingly.

Poised for Carol's throat, the walker lurched and tripped. It's bulk pressed down on her, its jaw a snapping mouse trap inches from her ear. In the pushing and tugging, Carol's heel caught a rock and fell backwards against the bank, bringing the walker down with her. Her knife disappeared in the murky depths. Weaponless, Carol kept its approach at bay with her hand on its throat. She managed to spot a rock in the slumped soil and reached for it just as _Lizzie_ nearly took a chomp out of her forehead.

Water blinded Carol. She sputtered and coughed. Instinct told her to dodge right and then left from its hungry growl, splashing one cheek and then the other in water. With every other twist, she relocated the rock and tried again.

The yellow teeth snapped. Its putrid breath was hot on her skin. Her fingers slid along milky tendons as the dead skin gave way. Her arm burned and shook and still the walker inched closer and closer. Dirt and rocks and water pressed into her flailing palm until finally Carol rocked the stone just enough to snatch it. With a yell, she bashed the walker's head in.

It cried.

Another smack and another until bone crunched and Carol shoved its motionless body off of her and into the creek.

Carol shook with a silent scream. Her wet skin tingled in the frigid air.

 _"You killed me."_

Carol eyes fluttered and latched on to the nearest tree root just before her knees gave out. Splotches floated back through her eyes, and the trees around her spun. Something sticky oozed on her forehead. There wasn't enough air to fulfill her lung's demands.

 _"Oh. Lizzie...I..."_ She swayed and slumped belly side down on the muddy slope.

The dirty blonde head bobbed, the hair too long to be the little girl's, but...

 _"You killed me."_

Out of the corner of her eye, another figure appeared on the opposite bank. Tall, large and it was running. Sprinting. One fuzzy look at its gait and Carol knew it could crush her. The command "move" didn't register, however, not even a tweak of nerve reaction in her fingers.

Water lapped around the fallen walker, around _Lizzie_ half sunk in the creek.

Carol slid down further, water up to her waist, and inhaled the contradicting scent of mucky silt and rotten flesh.

 _"You killed me."_

"I know."

The footsteps pounded closer, war drums announcing a fight she would not engage. There was nothing left to do but wait for the bite, the tearing of flesh from bone.

 _"A shame really,"_ she almost laughed to herself. _"I thought I was getting somewhere."_

As Carol bent in acceptance and gratefully slipped into black, she could have sworn that the approaching walker gasped, "I gotcha."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** We're finally getting to the scenes that inspired this whole story! It's been a long year and a long set up, but I'm excited to get to the upcoming chapters.

Back in season 6, when Carol first left Alexandria, I thought, "Okay, she's going to be alone and work things out."

Instead, Morgan finds her and she's severely injured. Then Season 7 rolls around and we never really get to see Carol doing anything but reading romance novels. In fact, it doesn't seem like she makes any progress until Daryl shows up. I thought we'd get some introspection or something, but nope. It was very disappointing.

So, this is my attempt at having Carol try to work through it all.

Thanks for reading!-randomcat23


	9. Confession by the Creek

**Disclaimer:** Randomcat23 does not own The Walking Dead.

* * *

Daryl bowled over a walker with a rib-cracking kick and a guttural yell. It roared through the trees, bait for anything out there. He charged on. Limp and soaked as a used rag, Carol hung in his arms. Horror took away his sense, panic, his ability to backtrack her footprints. Only one clear thought pierced his mind: _"Follow the creek."_ As long as he kept it to his left, he'd find that cabin and save Carol.

In his current state every tree looked the same. Each bend in the creek much like the last. It was if he was stuck on a treadmill, exhausting his energy but never gaining any ground. Thorns bit through his jeans, sticks snapped like whips across his arms and face. A time or two, they drew blood, but he did not feel it drip down his skin.

 _Creek. Creek. Creek._

Just as his lungs threatened to collapse, the cabin poked out from a thicket.

Cradling Carol's head, Daryl barreled up the steps and shouldered the door open. In a few heaving inhales, he located the fireplace and her supplies in the far room. Carol, he placed on the bedroll. His backpack, he flung across the floor. In two yanks, he removed her boots. Quick-working fingers slipped dry socks over her icy feet. The next step came clearly: _"Remove all her soaked clothing and wrap her in a blanket."_

The chugging machine ground to a halt.

Sweat pricked across his brow anew. His hands hovered over her collarbone, flicking her collar. Trailing down her torso, he hesitated over each button with a plea that she'd wake up. Peeling clothing back would reveal skin, probably pale and smooth. It was a view he had only dreamed about under the cover of night, with her skin on his...

Carol twitched again and her eyelashes fluttered.

Daryl held his breath, "Carol?"

She answered with nothing but a whine.

Head snapping toward the fireplace, he abandoned her clothing. Ashes and crispy logs filled the pit and there was only a small pile of shavings left on the floor next to balls of newspaper.

 _"Hafta go get wood,"_ he stated numbly, eyes going wide. _"Hafta get her out of those clothes. Hafta get her warm."_

Food. Water. _Skin._ Clothing. _Carol._ Firewood. He was frozen to the floor. Time ticked, taking with it insurance for her survival.

 _"Fuck!"_

Daryl chomped on the inside of his cheek, blood spurted across his tongue. It was enough to break the spell and he rushed back to Carol's side. He gulped once, and inwardly chided, _"What are ya, a fuckin' prude? Do it!"_

Heat crawled up his neck and pooled between his shoulder blades before he slowly unzipped her soaked pants.

"Hafta get her warm. Hafta get her dry," he muttered through the process of lifting her an inch and scooting the clothing down her legs. The blue tinge of her skin stoked his fear back into a panic. One more pull and her legs were freed. Even with the speed that which he tucked a blanket around her lower body, Daryl still caught a glimpse of the light cream panties covering the juncture of her thigh. He blushed at the same time he cursed his idiocy.

Daryl repeated his mantra as he finished undressing her, trying to label them as steps in a process, instead of meaningful boundaries. Flannel. Undershirt. Bra. _Skin_. Thankfully, or unthankfully, while Carol had murmured during the process, she never woke up. Redressing complete, he snatched the emergency blanket and doubled it around her form even though its crinkly mass fluttered weakly. After surveying his work, Daryl blushed and sucked in his tears, refocusing on the empty fire pit.

 _"Hafta get her warm."_

In a blur, he was outside and picking up a sizable log. Another flash, and his arms were overflowing with kindling. Only once he returned to the cabin and the first flames flared around the edges of old magazines did the world move at a normal pace again.

 _"Color's back on her cheeks,"_ he noticed and tested her temperature. Satisfied, his knees buckled without the constant adrenaline.

Thin waves of smoke wafted off the damp wood and into the room. After checking the floe and finding it open, he readjusted Carol so she faced the doorway and not the fire. He narrowed his gaze at the light outside; worries about sending smoke into the sky this early in the day were trumped by the need for it. If someone saw the smoke and investigated, he'd end them.

Somehow.

His throat closed and burned when he dared to glance away from her. Guiltily, Daryl slid his eyes over her form, socks to head and back again, waiting for her to wake up or disappear like a dream. Only the rise and fall of her chest kept him on the road to ease. A sudden cramp in his leg forced him to stand.

 _"Coulda lost her."_ The criticism announced itself the second his mind cleared.

Daryl swore as he paced.

 _"Could have been dead."_

If one neuron spark in Negan had fired differently, Daryl would have been a stain on Alexandria's street. If he had landed better punches on Dwight, he could have been dead. And if he was buried at Alexandria, there would have been no one to check on Carol.

Maybe she would have woken up before she drowned.

Maybe not.

Maybe she just would have slipped into hyperthermia.

At the thought, his stomach churned violently.

 _"Worthless shit."_

He tore apart his nails, smarting sliver by smarting sliver.

 _"How many times ya gonna fuck up before it's one too late?"_

"This is the last time," he snarled back at himself, hushed and low, but with all the viciousness of a threatened tiger.

By the fire, Carol let out a fluttering sigh. The soft sputter tore at his heart. He turned away and leaned into a window pane, its coldness barely a comfort for his aching eye socket. As if he could smack himself into change, he tapped his forehead on the glass with the dare, _"Prove it. Prove it. Prove it."_

* * *

 _"You killed me."_

 _Lizzie swayed back and forth in a half-dance, her jacket sleeves just an inch too long. She could have worn it for another year. Dirty blonde locks did nothing to hide the accusatory gleam in her stare. They made the blackness of her eyes pop._

 _"I know."_

 _Water lapped at Carol's ankles and rose slowly. Her shins froze, and then her knees were wet. On the edge of turning to ice, the water sloshed around Carol's hips. Lizzie crossed her legs and appeared to float over the swelling creek._

 _"Lizzie. I'm sorry."_

 _Carol reached for her knife._

Her eyelids cracked open, damp and crusty. Caught halfway in dream and consciousness, Carol reached for her weapon at the same time she chastised herself, _"You dropped it in the creek."_

Instantly, her brow pinched in confusion.

 _"What happened to that second walker?"_

Something soft stretched around her upper back. Carol frowned and blinked at her surroundings, perplexed by the warm browns and oranges of her cabin. A tentative finger test found her bedroll. Those were her supplies in the corner and the door matched that from her memory. But when she tried to recall how she escaped the creek and crawled back indoors, the missing gaps stretched answerless in the fog of her mind no matter how many questions she proposed.

 _"Did I kill it?"_

 _"How_ did _I get here?"_

Her blood pounded in time with the answer, _"I don't know. I don't know. I don't know."_ Carol writhed, desperate to loosen whatever bound her.

"Easy."

At his drawl, she froze and it clicked in place; the puzzle had an easy solution after all. Rational quickly recreated the scene. The running walker, what she had thought would be her end, was really Daryl rushing to help.

Her eyes darted from the wood boards to the sound of his footfalls. Relief eased her heartbeat, but disbelief pitched her voice high. "Daryl?"

"Careful."

Fabric tugged and Carol rolled with it to let the emergency blanket be pulled from around her. It dumped her face down. Once the room stopped swimming, she turned toward his voice. It did not take long to find him; down on one knee, he was an intimate sentry.

Daryl smiled tightly, but his warm greeting rolled over her like a balm, "Hey. Been out a while."

Her eyes stung and blurred. She had passed out in that creek thinking she was alone and done for in the wilderness. But again, she was proved foolish to think he'd ever lose her in his element.

Carol fumbled for him. With a surprised huff, Daryl caught her clumsy embrace, snaking a sturdy arm around her frame. She tucked her nose into the fold of his shirt and breathed deeply of woods, warmth, and Daryl. Sandwiched between the glow of the fire and his tight hold, she sobbed lightly.

Her chest vibrated with his hum. "Scared the shit out of me," he muttered with just a quiver of residual fear.

"Nine lives, remember?" She returned, equally uneven.

Daryl snorted, "Stop wastin' 'em."

Chin hooked over his shoulder, Carol opened her eyes and went cold. Under the window, Lizzie dripped water and blood into a shadowy puddle. The room tunneled. Blood drummed in Carol's ears. Frozen, she eyed the specter as it bounced from one foot to the other, a sick grin distorting the girl's face. From her thin, gross mouth, came the word: _Bang._

Carol jumped.

A chill swept over her legs, so unexpected, Carol forgot the ghost and stared down her exposed skin with a cocked eyebrow.

"The creek," she whispered and shivered as the memory of chilly waves brushed over her like spider webs.

In a flash, Daryl yanked up the blanket, eyes skillfully diverted. "You were soaked. Shiverin'." He swallowed, "Ya didn't have another pair of pants. I had ta.." Daryl waved a hand wildly between them before he threw himself away from her. "Here-"

Stunned, she watched him retrieve her cargo pants from their drying place near the fire. He snapped them once and turned half way around before offering them. The second her finger looped under the clothing, Daryl spun away.

Carol blinked. Their abrupt change in positioning had altered the way the fire lit the room, sending orange warmth where there had only been darkness. As Carol zipped her pants, she thought she had seen something off about his face, and not just the embarrassed redness. It was if one side was always cast in shadow. Carol quirked her lips; that interested her more than the fact he took her wet clothing off.

"Done," she proclaimed as the button popped into place. She flexed her legs in the stiff material and then wobbled on weakened muscles. Unsteady, she eased herself back to the floor and let the fire warm her back.

He turned around, hand scratching his temple, eyes still adverted.

"Daryl-it's alright. You saved me."

Red still painted across his face, Daryl nodded and stepped to the other side of the room in the direction of the supplies pile. Her suspicion was confirmed then; a nasty bruise discolored his cheek with a matching black eye.

Her heart twisted. "Daryl, what happened-"

"You should eat," Daryl interrupted and handed her an open can without waiting for a response. He was back in the shadows the second she instinctually grabbed the offering. Carol spooned a bite-green beans-to satisfy him, explanations for his injuries evading her.

Bruises happen, accidents happen. A lost step on a staircase, a trip while running from walkers that landed a tree branch to the face. But bile rose in her throat as her gut knowledge told her that no branch had wronged Daryl. If she looked hard enough, she thought she could just make out what could be puncture marks on his skin. But he kept shifting, changing how the shadows hit his face, as he unpacked a few cans from his bag and then checked the pair of drying socks. If Daryl had been beaten, what did that mean for the rest of her family?

She managed the cascade of worry by whimpering, "Daryl-?"

 _Lizzie_ reappeared, cutting off Carol's inquiries. It was only as Daryl paced, displacing the ghost, that Carol went in for a second chomp. Eyes closed, she blocked out the girl and attempted a satisfied hum. But the food was ash in her mouth. Through the crack in her eyelids, the ghost reappeared next to Daryl in a foggy shift. Carol coughed and turned toward the fire.

Weariness yanked on her eyelids even as her mind whirled, trying to make sense of it all. Each time she attempted to ask Daryl about home, _Lizzie's_ ghost appeared and shook a bloody finger at her or leaned over in her face, flooding Carol with the reek of rot and creek water.

Eventually, Carol gave up and focused on keeping her meal in her stomach.

 _"He's here, isn't he?"_ She tried to rationalize as he peaked out each window. _"It can't be that bad, right?"_

As if he could read her thoughts, Daryl put another log on the fire and finally affirmed, "It's nothing."

The small assurance eased her down to the bedroll. Tiny sparks rushed up the chimney. He tossed the smallest smirk in her direction and then glanced out the nearest black window. With a realization he frowned and made to stand. "Should go hunt. Getcha a rabbit or-"

 _Lizzie_ straightened her finger into a gun. Carol winced and blurted, "Please don't leave me alone. Stay."

His eyes widened slightly. In a slow motion, Daryl nodded. "Alright."

* * *

 _"She's strong."_

The haunted, desperate woman he had left days ago had been replaced with a level, if jumpy, Carol. Daryl warmed with pride; whatever laid hidden at the core of this, she had figured part of it out, or at least had made some progress.

 _"And she asked me to stay,"_ the greedy part of him thought. He had been ready to sleep in the woods if she had demanded it, rest his black and blue body in a tree or in a rock alcove. At the thought, his cheekbone ached, a ghost of twin punches. Then a pain spiked his shin, accompanied by a dredged up devilish laugh. Daryl fisted his pants, willing the memories away.

Carol, stretched out and peaceful, with her hands curled just so under her chin, tempted him to lay down beside her.

 _"Forget about it,"_ he scolded himself, reigning in his own aching desire for comfort.

He hadn't missed Carol's curious glances and her attempts to ask about his injuries; ever the caretaker, she never missed small scrapes before, so of course she noticed the nasty discoloration on his face. But she didn't need to know about Abraham and Negan just yet. Not when she was still flinching at shadows and barely walking. The way she let the subject drop only reaffirmed his decision.

Daryl squinted in thought, _"Should probably say somethin' about Tobin."_

An inward groan rattled his ribcage; he would botch it, of course. Without bothering to get words straight from the man himself, Daryl had no script to read, no lover's encouragement. Now that he thought of it, he should have sucked it up and asked Tobin to write Carol a note.

 _"Or somethin'."_

Maybe.

Daryl ran a hand over his face.

He licked his lips and dug out a cigarette. Tests to all the windows proved that none of them opened. Unwilling to separate himself from Carol, even if it was just by the front door, Daryl put away the cigarette with fidgety fingers. He stretched his legs out by the fire and, for a few minutes at least, tried to not think about Negan, or failing Carol, or playing messenger boy.

* * *

She woke up smiling with her first coherent thought: _"Daryl's here."_

It was sweet as spring air and warmed her like the Georgia sun. Maybe he'd be waiting for her with breakfast, a shy smile playing at his mouth as he shrugged and held out a roasted rabbit.

 _"As if I'd ever turn it down."_

Or maybe he'd be cross-legged in front of the fire, close enough to touch. Carol blindly reached out a hand, and finding only wood, snorted lightly at herself. She sighed in this blissful moment before turning serious.

 _"Time to find out how he got those-"_

When her eyelids cracked open eagerly with the promise of seeing him, a nightmare greeted her instead. Lizzie's decayed form crouched before her. Carol grimaced with a groan and pulled the blanket over her face.

 _"Damn it..."_

She peeked and a beam of light streaked through Lizzie from the other side of the room. Abruptly, Carol sat up and called, "Daryl?"

"Just checkin' the temperature," he admitted from the front door. Like a pendulum, it swayed back and forth between his fingers, stay, leave, stay, leave. Finally, he let it shut and Carol let go of a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

His voice filled the empty room, "How ya feelin'?"

"I don't know," she whispered honestly, more hallucinations crawling out of the corners of the cabin. From Daryl's shadow, Lizzie mimicked shooting herself, repetitiously throwing her head back at neck breaking speed.

 _Bang._

 _Bang._

 _Bang!_

Carol hissed, cold knifing her heart. After all the months waking up numb she had nearly forgotten what it was like to _want_ to wake up, rather than just accepting it. With weird mix of annoyance and dread, Carol curled a lip at the ghost. Unimpressed, Lizzie returned a blank stare.

She had been so caught up in the movements of the ghost that she missed Daryl taking out medical supplies and then grabbing her hands. Carol flinched at the unexpected contact.

"Sorry." His rough grasp loosened and repositioned. Now, like he was handling glass, Daryl cradled her hands and rewrapped the bandages she hadn't noticed. Around and around the wrap went, till bright pink scrapes were exposed. Then around and around again as fresh bandages covered them up. She risked a look at him while he worked, concentration furrowed in his brow.

Lizzie spoiled it, muddy lips curled back over gritty teeth.

Abruptly, Carol declared, "I need to get my knife back."

He finished his wrapping with a small bow. "Alright."

Willing her shaky knees straight, she rose and dressed with purpose, throwing on the shirt that had been her pillow. She stiffened only slightly when the collar got tight going over her head. Tapping into her failing strength, she waved a hand through the invasive ghost and sunk her feet into her boots.

Outside, Carol beamed what should have been an encouraging smile at Daryl to make up for her clipped and cryptic words, but it withered as _Lizzie_ waved on the porch. The wind crept between every thread, every layer to race down her frame and pool in her boots. By the time Daryl descended from the porch, ice flowed in Carol's veins. Her chin glued itself downward.

She took off down the creek, desperate to put distance between the ghost and herself. Bare branches and shuddering leaves exchanged the echoes of old conversations.

 _"I just need to forget it."_

 _"How would you like it if I killed you?"_

Frost disappeared under her boots in lines, her gait uneven and rushed. All her steps accounted for nothing, however, as each time she focused on a distant tree or the path ahead, the dead girl skipped into view, leaving impossible golden flowers in her wake.

Daryl faded into foggy awareness.

By the time they reached the slumped creek bed, Carol was sweating and breathing heavily. The downed walker floated face down on the far side. Her pole stuck out awkwardly from the creek bed. Daryl bent to retrieve it, releasing a sharp sucking noise as it popped loose from the silt.

Carol glared at the swirls in the water and the bobbing walker.

 _"Lizzie."_

Cross legged, with her knees poking through frayed jeans, the girl cocked her head. A shimmering pecan tree rose up behind her, showering the bursting patches of yellow flowers with its loose leaves. Laughter came from somewhere, quickly replaced with screams and sobs.

Movement to Carol's left shattered the haunting vision.

"No," she called and waved Daryl back onto the bank. "I got it."

Her legs were rigid poles as she slid toward the icy water. Carol waded out toward the body with her arms bent at the elbows to keep them dry. The corpse was light; the ghost sitting on it was heavy. _Lizzie_ , sneered. Puffing, Carol lifted the upper body onto the bank. Her arms shook. By the time she shoved the rest of it out of the water, her eyes stung.

Her knife rested just under where the body had been, long and shiny in a bed of round pebbles. Carol licked her lips and stuck her hand right through the ghost, grimacing as she broke the creek's surface. Knife reclaimed and sheathed, she sloshed back through the water. Climbing back up the mucky bank, every muscle screamed and her lungs sputtered as if she had just completed a marathon. She accepted Daryl's extended hand.

Upright, she glanced in the direction of the cabin with a shudder, finding no energy to begin the trek. Feet rooted in place, Carol fingered the hilt of her knife as she surveyed the creek. Her gut dropped in time with her shoulders. She winced in the wake of another resurfacing memory: _"I love you Lizzie...and everything works out the way it's supposed to."_

It had been a long time since she felt compelled to confess a sin. She could deal with them herself, couldn't she? Karen, David, the others had been laid to rest. But Lizzie hounded her, demanding attention and penance. Daryl, like she feared, prompted honesty even with his lack of questions. His mere presence and thoughtful look were enough of an invitation.

Carol set her jaw. "You read my note, right?"

"Killin's got to ya," Daryl whispered huskily after a second's pause.

She nodded, not bothering to wipe her eyes. Her fists shook at her sides as the wind nipped her damp cheeks. "I still count them. They've been haunting me since...," Carol faltered, unable to specify a start.

Rick's abandonment?

That grove with Lizzie?

Or was Morgan the catalyst that forced her to retroactively count the ones before and after?

She winced and forced herself to continue. "Most of them, I think I have it figured out. But there's one who won't go away."

The hateful pit inside of her bubbled and frothed. A crack shot up her emotional dam, taking with it its last bit of structural integrity. She had made peace with Karen and David and the others who followed. She'd come to terms with killing for her family. But still, _still_ Lizzie glared at her from the creek, denser and more real than ever, taunting her, daring her.

Maybe she should have taken a harder look at herself. A deeper peek into her heart may have revealed that there was so much more darkness to those depths. Apparently, she had only peeled away the spoiled flesh to reveal the rotten core beneath it all.

"I saw Lizzie in the creek." She gulped, "I saw her in that walker. _She_ haunts me."

They both held their breath, Daryl in anticipation, Carol like before a plunge. It welled up from her gut, that tar-like hate. Carol couldn't swallow. The calluses from digging those child graves rose up on her palms. Carol staggered away from the girl, the creek bed.

Daryl buoyed her by grabbing a sleeve.

She widened her feet, seeking more stability before the next, the final, the worst, the most _damning_ , storm surge.

"Back then, Lizzie killed Mika, so I had to kill Lizzie." She didn't recognize her muffled voice, it was as if spoken through heavy wool. The sin was a lifetime ago, but it replayed like it was yesterday, this morning, five minutes ago.

Fresh as the frost beneath her boots. Sharp as the ice constricting her pants.

"I'm fucked up," she bit savagely, jerking her arm slightly to dislodge his hold. "I had to leave!"

When Daryl parted his lips, she shrilly laid out her shortcomings, "I'm hallucinating. I've killed _children_. Now, I can't kill anymore. I can't _fight_." Carol shook her head at him and concluded, "I'm fucked _up_ , Daryl. I can't go back!"

With a snap of his elbows, Daryl grabbed her, an instant and silent counterargument. Her vision rocked and she weakly plucked at his hands. Through the blinding fog of guilt and grief, his stormy eyes found her weeping ones. Gazes locked, his grip tightened. The pressure of his thumbs on her arm was just enough to anchor her.

The world righted itself.

"Ya had ta do shit things," he began. "Shit nobody should hafta do." Daryl bent his head to meet hers, another anchor point.

There were long pauses between his sentences, during which she'd twist them around, searching for fallacies, exceptions. Carol tore at her lip and then, finding no lie, reset her eyes on his.

"The world's shit, yeah," he agreed raggedly, drawing her to his chest. "But that don' mean you are."

The gap in her heart left behind by the overflowing guilt expanded wide and silent, only to be filled slowly by Daryl's quiet words. With nothing else there, they reverberated into a crescendo. Needy fingers grabbed his coat, as if she could soak up what he said, grab it, consume it.

"Come 'ere," he said, even though she was already there with her body melded to his, one of his hands cupping the back of her head.

Carol sucked in a breath, sputtered, and sobbed.

* * *

"Looks like a small herd's roamin' through," he readjusted the curtain and squinted. "'M countin' twenty or so."

In response, Carol tugged the blanket tighter. For the second time in a day her pants hung drying by the fire. She mindlessly tapped the damp spot beneath them; the walkers stirred no fear in her. Oddly enough, the lack of Lizzie's ghost nearly did. The corners of the cabin felt empty without the wispy fog and glares.

She hadn't said much after her confession by the creek, her throat too dry. Spurred on by her chattering teeth, they hustled back to the cabin in near silence. In between swooping up logs and sticks, Daryl must have spoken only to keep her from slipping into whatever mind pit loomed inside her. But there was no pit, no sloshing sickness inside of her. Just a calm.

Going home still felt worlds away, but somehow, was now within sight.

Carol shoved that aside and looked across the room.

Daryl remained by the window, leaning so his forehead nearly touched the glass. There was a messy patch work of stitches along the knees of his pants. His long sleeve shirt was rolled up to his elbows, his forearms tense, strong. As always. One look at his black eye had her pondering its mysterious cause, yet she still couldn't bring herself to ask. He left conflict behind to come here, to come to _her_. That knowledge did funny things to her aching heart.

She sighed guiltily.

"You can sleep, if you want," she said after clearing her throat and then scooted back an inch, a knee jerk reaction to make room for him. The remaining log in the fireplace popped.

"I'll keep watch," Daryl deflected with a shrug.

"Your wall keeps the walkers away."

"Not takin' chances," he said softly. "Besides, 'm fine." The dark circles around his eyes said otherwise.

With another sigh Carol rolled over and clenched her eyes shut in an attempt to force herself asleep. The quiet was there. So was the exhaustion. It laid heavy in the back of her eye sockets. All that was missing was the final fall into unconsciousness.

It never came.

By the time her shoulder ached, the fire had died. She threw another log on, added a few sticks for good measure. Daryl was now watching her movement intently, arms crossed, shoulder butted up against the wall. Carol rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palm. Whereas before his presence on her side of the stream was claustrophobic, now the small gap between them, a whispering distance, yawned like the expanse between stars.

Little else floated in her mind. No curses or mantras. No ghosts.

Just her, a blank slate, and Daryl.

She wrapped the blanket around her waist and went to stand at his side.

Cold leaked through the edges of the window, so she moved close enough share each other's radiating heat. There wasn't much to see besides the black skeletons of trees and distant forms of straggling walkers.

"Slow moving group," she noted, following one that lumbered on a broken ankle.

The sky darkened as the dead moved harmlessly pass the wall and into the darkness. The moon dimmed. It started to snow. Carol counted minutes by switching focus between the twirling flakes and Daryl's stoic reflection.

Eventually, Daryl uncrossed his arms and cast her a sideways glance before allowing his leg to brush hers. "How are ya?"

"Fine." She leaned into the simple contact. It was like her entire body had been asleep. Now, after a good shake, it tingled as nerves reconnected and remembered how to fire. As good as it was, as impossible as it would have been without him, Carol examined the discoloration on his face and whispered, "Thank you for coming back."

"Ain't gotta thank me," he said, exasperated.

Carol grabbed his arm and looped it around to rest across her chest, ignoring his initial stiffening. "You didn't have to," she insisted, meeting his reflection in the window. "I gave everyone...I gave you every reason not to."

Leaving without saying goodbye. The initial welcome she gave him. It would have been easy for anyone to justify leaving her alone.

Daryl chewed his lip lightly and then turned her to face him with a gentle nudge. "No way I'd ever...I said ya ain't alone in this."

 _Everything turns out the way it should._

There, in his embrace, she pondered the truth in that statement. Daryl came for her the first time, both protecting her privacy and promising to not leave her alone. He returned just in time to catch her from collapsing. Confessing her raw feelings, the secret about Lizzie? She failed to imagine it working out with any other member of her family.

She bit back the gracious tears, so sick of crying.

In the quiet that followed, she backed herself deeper into his arms and they watched the snow coat the ground. Even as the fire died and the cold turned their breath into clouds, Carol never shivered.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Heeeey, it's been awhile! Hopefully this longish chapter makes up for it.

Thanks for reading! Reviews are greatly appreciated!-randomcat23


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